The Raven King
by MidenianScholar
Summary: For a moment, that same emotion passed over his face—like a widower's grief, but somehow worse than that. "My entire kingdom is gone," he said softly, as if only beginning to realize it for himself. A legend-canon time traveling story.
1. Prologue: The Raven

_Whilst doing research on the grave of King Arthur, I ran across a popular myth: That King Arthur, rather than dying, lying asleep in a cave, or simply chilling in Avalon, was transformed into a raven, and still haunted the lands until he would be turned back. This story began to write itself immediately afterwards. Enjoy._

_I do not own King Arthur, but as most of the text I will draw from is over 100 years old I'm not altogether worried about copyright issues. Most of the story is legend-canon rather than show-canon.  
_

**Prologue - The Raven**

_And even the renowned king Arthur himself was mortally wounded._

_-Geoffrey of Monmouth_

He opened his eyes. Branches swirled above him, with the stars gleaming beyond. Each breath was difficult, and he could feel his lungs full of blood. Morgan had left him, though some of her maidens stood nearby. When he looked at them, they blurred and swayed. He tried to blink his eyes clear, but he could not focus on them. One lifted a hand and touched her mouth—in grief, he thought.

_I am dying,_ he realized. _I really am going to die._

He coughed, and his chest burst into fresh pain, and his mouth filled with blood. A woman came to help him, wiping the blood from his chin and whispering about rest.

Sleep. That is what he wanted. After the last several months, he had earned that. He had earned peace.

_Will they get married, now that I am gone?_ he wondered, shutting his eyes. He expected to feel that grief again—that betrayal and anger, that gaping hole that had sunk into him ever since he had retrieved his wife.

"_What were you thinking?" he asked her. His voice was forcibly calm, patient. At one time, his gentleness had warmed her heart. He remembered that time. But as she turned to the window, he felt afresh that her heart had never really been his. Over twenty years of marriage. No legitimate children to be heirs. A kingdom nearly torn in half when her affair was discovered._

_She would not answer. He could see that in the set of her jaw. He wanted to yell—to accuse her of the deaths of the men, the deaths of his nephews. Everything in him wished to see her crushed, the way he had felt when they brought him the news that awful day._

_But suddenly he knew he could not accuse her of anything. She could not defend herself against him. She would not talk back to a king. Perhaps she did not want to speak, did not want to own up to her mistakes, but she also knew that he could change his mind. He could burn her._

_Somehow, her face—turned away from him, eyes staring out the window—reminded him of the day after their marriage. He had thought then that she was just homesick. Now he knew that she was resigned to her fate, neither hoping nor fearing. She had been resigned with him this whole time._

_He had brought her into this. Perhaps if he had taken the time to secure her affections better, tried harder not to leave her so often for his duties—perhaps none of this would have happened. His friend had wooed her into adultery, but had he—her husband—ever tried to stop it from happening? He had been so blind to it, that it had taken two hateful knights to open his eyes. If he had been paying closer attention, perhaps he would have caught it, would have been able to resolve it quietly—without war and death and injury._

He had left her standing there, and never seen her since. He felt nothing now: no regret, no anger. It would be done with soon. _Peace. I want peace._

"Brother," said a familiar voice. He opened his eyes, peering into Morgan's face. There was someone leaning over her shoulder—someone not quite old, but yet ancient—not quite young, but somehow boyish. His advisor. He tried to speak, but blood gurgled up his throat. Morgan wiped the blood from his chin. "You see how bad it is. I cannot heal him."

The man nodded. He knelt down, meeting the eyes of his king solemnly. "My friend," he said, "you cannot live as you are now. But I can give you another chance."

Another chance. The pain began then—in his chest and flowing like fire to his limbs. He looked up, and saw the man's fingers were gleaming with faint light. _No_, he thought. _No more chances! I want to rest!_

"You are the hope of your people," the advisor said. His hands had become white, and he was reaching towards the wounds. "Such a hope should not be squandered. You will be needed again."

_No, no, no!_

His hands came against the wounds. "You will not remember very much, I am afraid," the advisor continued. "But it will have to do."

Then everything began to change. The people over him grew larger—no, he was growing smaller. His chest stopped hurting. His arms felt heavy, but his legs were strangely light. He tried to turn onto his side, but his advisor—a giant now—picked him up.

"A raven," Morgan whispered beside him, awed.

"You will become yourself again when the time is right," Merlin said. He threw his hands into the air and let go. "Fly free, my king."

The raven disappeared into the mists of Avalon, and was not seen again for a very long time.

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	2. Chapter 1: A Misplaced Medievalist

_Special thanks to Enrollment Management and my summer working in the admissions office, where I learned all these useless facts that I cannot escape from now. Berry College does exist, and you can Google it if you want to see locations mentioned in this chapter. _

**Chapter One – A Misplaced Medievalist **

_There's a new way to be human  
Redemption begins  
-Switchfoot_

Kate Holland pulled at her jacket, summoning a smile as she stared at her reflection in the glass. No one would suspect that she'd spent the weekend buried in tissues and eating gratuitous amounts of Chik-fil-A. The make-up was doing a fantastic job of hiding the bruises under her eyes, and teeth whitener had removed the stains of the sweet tea that had been her lifeline.

The truth was she took everything in life a little too seriously. All through college, nothing had mattered but grades. In her job, nothing mattered but that she recruited more students than the others. And in her romantic life, such that it was, she always went in expecting to end up at the altar. As a result, she always went out as if she'd been widowed or divorced.

_When are you going to grow up, Miss Holland?_ she thought to herself, making a face at the glass. _He was a jerk and you knew it the first time he asked you out. Remember? You told everyone you just went with him because a date meant a chance to see a free movie. And here you are two months later, putting yourself in debt trying to eat your heartbreak away. _

Kate shook her head, turning away from the Jewel Box and looking out over the field and up at the mountains in the distance. After graduating Berry College almost five years ago, she had been instantly snatched up by Enrollment Management as an admissions counselor. She had been an assistant to admissions counselors during school, and fell into the job easily. Of course, she had entered college with other dreams. Back then, in what she liked to call her Starry Eyed Stage, she had wanted to become the next Jane Austen, and had pursued a degree in English/Creative Writing with a passion. But being an admissions counselor was enjoyable, and had a much more reliable paycheck.

Besides, she loved the college. It had its faults, but it also had so much beauty. _Berry is the largest land campus in the US, with more than 26,000 acres of land to explore, _she quoted absent-mindedly. Just recently they had finished construction on the newest residence halls—Morgan and Deerfield—which included the very attractive Jewel Box, a sun room for students to study and hang out in.

It was the Thanksgiving holidays, so there were no students around now. But a prospective student's family was coming, and Kate had volunteered to give them a tour of the campus. She was waiting for them, standing with her back to the windows of the Jewel Box. Deer were frolicking in the field below, as they were want to do whenever the student body was not present. _Recent research shows that Berry's deer-to-student ratio is 11:1,_ she thought. Prospective students always loved seeing the deer, though once students discovered the little presents deer left on sidewalks they became disillusioned with the romance of the creatures.

There was a sudden rush of wings by Kate's ear, a blur of black and then a thump beside her. Kate jumped and turned. A large raven lay by her foot, its little breaths laborious. "Oh!" Kate said, not sure whether she thought it was a poor thing or a nuisance. The glass had been a problem for the local bird population, but she had never actually seen one fly into it.

The prospective family would be there any moment, and a dying bird was hardly the way to start the campus tour. Kate fished in her purse, and found that she had a plastic bag saved from walking a neighbor's dog. Biting her lip, she knelt beside the bird and scooped it into the bag. The family was not yet in sight, so she decided to make a run for the woods.

Kate dumped the bird onto the forest floor. It lay there pitifully, still looking stunned. "I wish I could help you," Kate said to it. "But I don't even know who to call about this sort of thing."

Back by the Jewel Box, she heard voices. That must be the family. "Sorry," she told the bird. She turned and hurried up to the little group of people, summoning her best Berry smile and tugging her jacket again.

About an hour and a half later, Kate stood with a smile plastered on her face as she waved to the family's car. The tour had gone beyond horrible. An idiot Berry student had left a beer can sitting in the open, which the very conservative family had immediately noticed. "_Isn't this school a dry campus?" _the father had demanded. The typical "_yes, but these things do happen" _answer had not been satisfactory.  
The rest of their time together had been filled with the father questioning each of her claims about the school, and she felt certain that they would not be receiving an application. From the murmurs of the mother, Bob Jones was higher on their list.

Kate turned as the car pulled out of sight, and began to walk down the Viking Trail pathway. _Berry College has over forty miles of trails to be explored on its campus,_ echoed in her mind. Everything she looked at seemed to pull at some useless facts she'd stored up for tour groups. She sighed, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Maybe a walk towards Mountain Campus would help calm her frayed nerves.

The autumn colors were coming to their peak, though the weather had remained in the comfortable low 70's. After trudging along for about a half hour, the beauty of the forest and the fresh air began to work on Kate's mood. She even smiled when a bird flew over her head to perch on a branch at a short distance.

A bird which happened to be a raven. A raven which happened to look an awful lot like the one she had left to die in the forest.

Guilt churned in her stomach. Wildlife was vitally important of course, but at the time the family had seemed more urgent. But then, maybe this was the same raven that had crashed into the window and nearly broken its neck, now fully recovered and following her as some sort of sign that everything would be okay.

Unlikely.

Kate passed under the branch, feeling those little beady eyes staring at her. She was nearly five feet away, and had started to forget her concerns again, when there was a loud crash behind her.

Yelping in surprise, Kate whirled around. The first thing she noticed was that there was a man sprawled on the paved trail behind her. Then she noticed that he was wearing faded, torn clothes that looked vaguely medieval and that he was lying on top of a tree branch.

"Where did you come from?" Kate demanded. "Were you climbing in that tree? The campus is closed – no one should be around here!" Her hands were shaking, and she shoved them back into her pockets.

The man—he looked to be just shy of thirty—lifted his head, pressing his hand against his ear. His eyes were a color somewhere between blue and gray, and right now they were clouded in a dumb-looking confusion. "Eh?"

"What were you doing in that tree?" she asked again, her voice getting higher.

He winced. "I'm sorry, I do not know what you are talking about."

Kate considered running or calling campus police. But she had two miles to run uphill before she would be able to meet the road again, and he was blocking the way back to Main Campus. As her heart began to calm, she realized that she was overreacting—again. He looked like he was too stunned to do anyone harm, and the way he kept pressing the side of his head indicated that he had hurt himself in the fall.

Warily, Kate took a step forward and knelt down. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yes. I am fine." He carefully pushed himself up, his movements oddly like an adolescent who was not used to a recent growth spurt. Kate could see by the way he swayed that he was dizzy, but he grit his teeth and did not complain. When he had pulled himself to a tree and sat back against it, he began to look around again. Now Kate could tell that he was definitely dressed for a medieval reenactment. His clothing looked like it belonged to a hardcore fan, one of the nuts who spent hundreds of dollars to get as close to accurate as possible. But they were in a state of disrepair, torn at the knees and elbows and coated with dirt. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Don't you know? Berry College, in Rome, Georgia." At his uncomprehending stare, Kate shook her head. "You don't end up here by accident, let me tell you. How did you get here?"

"I do not remember." His voice was far-off, and his eyes remained murky.

"You must have really bumped your head," Kate observed. She started to move closer, wondering if she remembered enough from First Aid to tell if he had a concussion.

His eyes caught on her dress pants, and his whole face flamed red. Kate stopped, not sure if the rush of blood to his head was another sign of brain injury. "Ah—" He cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

"Kate Holland, admissions counselor for the college." She dusted at her pants, noticing that now he was staring over her shoulder at the trees instead of looking at her. "What about you?"

"King Arthur of Camelot," he answered without a trace of sarcasm. His eyes met hers as he said it, and they were clear for the first time.

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	3. Chapter 2: B&N Dethrones a King

**Chapter Two – Barnes and Nobles Dethrones a King**

_I wondered what might happen if I left this all behind  
Would the wind be at my back  
Could I get you off my mind  
This time_

_-This Time, Chris Trapper_

"Yes, Rob, I know it sounds insane—that's what I'm trying to tell you!" Kate hissed, glancing sideways at the fellow she'd found in the woods. She could hear Robert Washington—Assistant Director of Admissions—laughing, his wheezes making her cell phone buzz with static. "Arthur" was sitting in one of the Jewel Box's outdoor rocking chairs, staring at the mountain in the distance as he slowly pushed himself back and forth.

"Tell me again, please," Rob said. Kate had the sneaking suspicion he had put her on speaker phone. It would be just like him to do that, to get back at her for calling him on his holiday break.

Kate grit her teeth. "I found a man on Viking Trail who appears to be homeless and out of his mind. He keeps claiming he's King Arthur. Doesn't know what Georgia is—doesn't know what _America_ is—and is dressed in a shabby medieval costume. I want you to tell me what to do with him."

There were snickers in the background. Yes, he had put her on speaker phone. Kate could imagine his wife and kids all covering their mouths and trying not to burst into laughter.

She had not wanted to use this card on him, but if he was going to play dirty… "Look, Rob, if you do not want to deal with the problem, that's fine. I'll just give Timothy a ring and ask him." Timothy Berry was Berry's Director of Residence Life (of no relation to the original Berry family). Kate was not sure if this was even a problem that would fall under his responsibility, but the threat was immediately effective.

"No reason to do that, Katie!" Rob said in a rush. "Look, I'm about two hours away—can't exactly come right over, you know, but why don't you just drop him in the ER and let them deal with him?"

"I don't think they would admit him, seeing as he doesn't have any ID," Kate said. "And I already thought about finding him a homeless shelter, but what if he escapes and comes back? What if he brings more people, and they all start hiding out on some of our empty land? PR would have a lot to handle cleaning that up."

"Maybe you could… I don't know… give him to a Berry policeman to deal with? I mean, he did get on campus illegally somehow. Hey—did you check him for drugs? I bet that's his problem!"

About twenty minutes later, Kate snapped her phone shut. She had no more of an idea about what to do, and Rob's chatter had given her a headache. Pressing a sigh between her lips, she turned to "Arthur" again. There were some leaves still in his hair. He looked very out of place, sitting in the orange rocking chair in his outlandish clothing. Something about him was unsettling, too. Kate tapped her nails against her cell phone, reaching back into her English Major days to come up with a proper description.

It was his eyes, she decided. Whenever they were clouded over, he seemed somehow untouchable—but more than that. He seemed somehow wild. "_With eyes like the sea after a storm,"_ she thought, quoting the _Princess Bride_. She did not like it. Whatever it was in his absent look, it made her uncomfortable.

Clearing her throat, she stepped over to him. He glanced up, the misty look replaced by an enlightened expression. "I have found out where I am," he told her.

Kate's tone of voice was less than thrilled when she asked, "Really? Please tell me."

"This is one of those visions—like the ones Merlin has shown me," he said, motioning eagerly with his large hands. "I stay in this other world until I find some task to complete, and then I can return to Camelot." He rose, his movements still awkward. "If I may, is there anything you need aid in?"

It did not suit Kate that he was several inches taller than her, so she had to look up at him. He was quite earnest, fully believing his own story. Shaking her head, Kate said, "Yes, I do need help with something."

He smiled. "Perfect! That must be my quest."

"I need help figuring out how you can be so dense," Kate snapped. "First off, if you were King Arthur, why are you speaking modern English? If you even have a British accent, it's too faint for me to recognize. Second, how did you end up in Georgia—why aren't you in London or something? Third, where's Excalibur? I could go on and on with all the impossibilities!"

"Oh," he said, his face falling. "Well—I don't know about any of that. Last thing I remember, I was…" That absent look came back, and he frowned. "I don't exactly remember what happened last."

"Come on," Kate said, jerking her thumb towards the parking lot, which was on the other side of the Jewel Box. "Let's go. I have an idea."

"Alright," Arthur agreed. He walked forward confidently—and right into the Jewel's glass side. Kate covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Arthur jumped back, thrusting his hands out awkwardly and glaring at the glass.

The laughter choked in Kate's throat. The way he'd moved his arms reminded her of a crow flapping back from danger. _That's impossible,_ she thought quickly. _Even if there was a crow in that tree before—it means absolutely nothing. He's just obviously lost his marbles. _

"You have to walk around it," she said aloud, leading the way.

"What are those?" Arthur asked, pointing to a bike rack overflowing with the students' bicycles.

"Bikes."

"What is that?" He pointed at one of the street lights along the pathway to the parking lot.

"Street lights," she said, glancing at him in disbelief. He was gawking at the old barns next to the dorms. Since the campus was closed for the holidays, Kate was the only one parked in the parking lot. Her car chirped happily as she unlocked it. Arthur quit looking at the barns and examined the car curiously. Kate rolled her eyes, opening the door and slipping in. "Get in, please."

Arthur's eyes widened. "What sort of a creature is this?"

Kate leaned across the seat and pushed open the passenger's door. "It's a car. Get in."

Once he had been coaxed in, and convinced to buckle up, Kate turned the car on and backed out. Arthur braced himself with his hands against the dashboard, gripping it as she hit the gas. Kate waved to a Berry policeman as she drove off campus, wondering if she was the one who had gone insane.

Ten minutes later, Kate parked outside of Barnes and Nobles. The color of Arthur's face was about the shade of her blouse. He had not made a sound on the trip across town, though she had noticed he kept squeezing his eyes shut. She leaned back now, looking at him. He hadn't moved—his hands had a death grip on her dashboard, his eyes were trained straight ahead, and his jaw was clenched.

Kate whapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped. "Hey, relax. We're here now." She opened the door and slipped out. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to open the door on his side.

Barnes and Nobles was open, though the crowd was scarce since it was the day after Thanksgiving. Kate made a bee-line towards her favorite section: The classics. Arthur wandered around behind her, still looking a little dazed.

"M… M… Malory!" Kate cried, snatching the book off the shelf. A harmless classics browser with glasses glared in her direction. She wrinkled her nose at him, muttering to herself, "We're in Barnes and Nobles, not a library."

Arthur looked up from some romance novel he'd gotten a hold of, which had a knight and lady on the cover. "What did you say?" he asked.

Kate grabbed his arm, guiding him towards the Starbucks part of the bookstore. "What were you doing with that?" she asked, snatching his book from him and setting it on a random shelf. "No man is caught alive with romance novels in hand."

"Romance novel?" he asked, pronouncing 'novel' as if it were an alien word. "How could I have known it was damaging to one's reputation to hold that novel? I cannot read the text. Though I am amazed by the skill of the artist—the picture looked very lifelike, though not at all accurate."

"Of course you would say that." She pushed him into a chair and opened _Morte D'Arthur_. "Now, look! Right here. _This _is the real King Arthur, the only one who ever existed. He's a fable. A legend. A storybook hero. He is not real, and he is not you."

Arthur frowned at the text but then looked back at her. "I cannot read."

"Good grief!" she muttered, sitting across from him and flipping the pages. "An insane person who thinks he's a king who can't even read." She found the passage about Lancelot and the poor girl who gave him her scarf, and read it.

Arthur's face lit up. "Lancelot! He is my best knight."

"Also your queen's best knight," Kate said shrewdly.

Arthur smiled, his face perfectly innocent. "The queen favors Lancelot greatly, for he has done much service for her."

"She certainly rewards him well." A frown creased his brows, as if something in her tone confused him. Kate gaped. "Surely you are not going to claim you don't know about Guinevere and Lancelot! Anyone who knows _anything_ about the Round Table knows about their love affair."

He blinked twice. "Eh?"

"Lancelot slept with Guinevere. Everyone in the kingdom knew about it in the end, except for King Arthur."

Arthur began to turn red. He abruptly pushed himself up from the table. "My wife is the best of Christian women. You can withdraw your insult or I will take my leave."

It was Kate's turn to blink stupidly. "Wait—wait, sit down. I did not mean to make you angry. But it's just the truth, and I've got the proof right here." She held up the book.

He looked away from her for a moment, shifting his jaw. Slowly, he sat again. "It is my duty to hear all accusations," he said. "Present your argument."

Kate frowned at him, but because to flip through the book, trying to think of what she could say. It occurred to her to locate passages that only King Arthur would know about. She began at the beginning, reading him snatches about the conception of the king—when King Uther took advantage of another man's wife, with Merlin's help. She breezed over any trains of thought she could find about Arthur himself, including when Arthur recognized Lancelot at the jousting tournament where Lancelot wore the scarf of Elaine. After a few of these passages, Kate saw that the Arthur sitting across from her was becoming more and more amazed.

Satisfied that she had earned some credibility for the book, Kate began reading passages about Lancelot and Guinevere. At first she did not choose these very carefully, but after a few of the more explicit ones she noticed that Arthur was beginning to look a little wounded. She chose more carefully after that, and realized with some amusement that she was attempting to shield him.

When she fell silent, he looked at her with hollow eyes. "Can I see the book?" he asked. Kate nodded, handing it to him mutely. He stared down at the pages. Kate did not need to know he could not read to see that he was not looking at the words. "Lancelot," he said, his voice rusty. "My closest friend and my wife. I never… I never would have guessed.

"Yet it's true," he said, flipping the pages slowly. "Everything else is true, and now that I hear it—I can see how it would be possible. More than possible." He shut his eyes tightly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Kate could see him masking his thoughts. He shook his head suddenly, and turned to her. "Don't they know this will ruin the kingdom if it is discovered?"

"That's what happened," Kate answered, pointing to the book. "They're discovered and everyone's after revenge until Mordred takes over and then you all die in battle. If you were the real Arthur, why wouldn't you remember that?"

"I don't remember anything past my thirtieth year," he said, spreading his hands. "I don't know what has happened." For a moment, that same emotion passed over his face—like a widower's grief, but somehow worse than that. Kate felt her throat tighten, though she was no closer to believing that he was not insane. "My entire kingdom is gone," he said softly, as if only beginning to realize it for himself.

Kate found herself unable to look him in the face. Her chest felt heavy, though she tried to shove the emotion beside. _He's insane_, she told herself.

She cleared her throat and got up. "Look—it's getting sort of late, and I'm supposed to meet my folks for dinner in Atlanta." Arthur looked at her, his fingers curled around the book gently, as if it was fragile. Kate rubbed her eyes, trying to think of what to do with him. There was no way she was going to take him to her parents' house—that would certainly be the sign that she was going crazy. "There's a nice hotel on the way. I'll drop you off there. I'll even cover your cost for a night."

The drive seemed to be horrific enough that Arthur was decently in the present again by the time they stopped outside of Countryside Inn. Kate led the way to the lobby. Arthur gasped when the automatic doors slid open before her. When Kate looked back at him, he was staring at her with a new found admiration. Frowning, Kate continued to the front desk.

She made the arrangements for the room. Turning to Arthur, she gave him the key. "Well, good luck. I hope you have a pleasant evening."

He bowed slightly. "Thank you, Lady Kate."

Kate felt her cheeks burning. "There's no need for that. Bye."

When she was in her car again, pulling back onto the highway to Atlanta, she realized that if he really thought he was Arthur, he would not be able to get into the hotel room. Kate groaned, for a moment considering going back. But there were plenty of people there to help him, and she was already running late for dinner, and if her mother got whiff of any of this Kate would never hear the end of it.

And the truth was, she was too grown up for insane, lost kings and men in an early midlife crisis. Actually, she was too busy for men in general.

Kate flipped on the radio and sped all the way to Atlanta.

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	4. Chapter 3: Love, Loss, and Bagels

_First, I know that historians date Arthur to about the 6th/7th century, and Beowulf is first recorded in the 8th-11th century. How could Guinevere have a dog named Beowulf, then? Well, oral tradition was good and strong, and it's likely the story of Beowulf existed in some form before it was recorded. Guinevere, being the well-educated young lady she is, would be well versed in the story, even if she couldn't read it._

_Second, one always draws Excalibur even when there is the least chance of danger. It makes for a good conversation starter, if nothing else. Especially when young ladies are involved._

**Chapter Three – Love, Loss, and Bagels **

_From thence he marched to Cornwall, to Cador's territory; he found there a maid extremely fair.  
- Layamon, Brut_

Arthur stared out the window, his gaze drifting from the parking lot to the trees. The patterns of the sun through the leaves made him feel tired, and oddly content.

_He was nineteen, four years on the throne and reckless. The knights had continued on the road to Cador's territory, while he walked alone over the countryside of Cornwall. It was late autumn then, with cold winds pulling the leaves free. He had been walking for some time when he heard a woman's laughter. _

_Curious, Arthur ventured forward. He drew Excalibur, gently pushing the leaves aside with the tip of his sword. _

_There was a young woman—no more than sixteen, he would guess—holding a wooden rake. Her blond hair was free around her waist, and her green eyes sparkled with enjoyment. "It is perfect!" she declared, thrusting the rake into the hands of an older woman beside her. A brown hunting dog sat by her feet, his tail wagging._

"_Milady," the old woman said mildly, "Duke Cador will be worried by your absence. He expects you home and clean when the guests arrive."_

"_I know, I know," the woman said, running to some distance. Her dog ran beside her. "Just once more, and then I will go back!" The old woman shook her head, though there was a lovingness in her eyes that made Arthur think she did not really mind waiting. The young one grinned, grabbing her skirts and running. At the last moment she jumped, landing in her pile with rainfall of leaves. She lay back, laughing at the sky. Arthur could not help smiling. The dog licked her face, and then went to explore some bushes at the edge of the clearing._

"_Lady Guinevere," the old woman said, "we should return."_

_The young woman—Guinevere—waved her hand at the sky. "Let me rest a moment, and then we will." She laid quietly for a few minutes, arms still sprawled in the leaves. "Do you think he will be a good king, Mary?"_

"_He has done wonders after only four years," the maid answered. Arthur felt his ears burning, and carefully backed away. He did not want to hear them discuss his short reign. _

_There was a low growling behind him, and Arthur turned. Guinevere's hunting hound was standing in his way, the fur of its back sticking up. Slowly, Arthur sheathed Excalibur, not wishing to appear threatening. Voices in the clearing were discussing the prospect of a visit from his knights. _

_Licking his lips, Arthur took a step to the side. The dog followed his movement, blocking him again. "It's alright," Arthur said under his breath. _

"_Where is Beowulf?" said Guinevere's voice. Arthur heard someone moving through the brush behind him, and turned just as Guinevere pushed the leaves aside. She paused, staring at him._

_Unintentionally, Arthur stepped away from her. His whole face felt hot now._

_There was a warning bark, and then Arthur felt the dog's sharp teeth sink into his hand. Gasping a curse, Arthur pulled back and stumbled away. Guinevere jumped in front of him, grabbing her dog's collar. The beast was so big, it was dragging her in its attempt to reach Arthur again. _

"_Sit, Beowulf, sit!" Guinevere snapped, giving the collar a hard tug. The maid came to assist her, and after a few moments the dog was calm enough to lie down. It still watched Arthur, with hatred in its brown eyes. _

"_Is your hand alright, sir?" Guinevere asked, leaving the dog to the maid and walking to him. _

_He had almost forgotten about the bite while he had watched her wrestle down the dog. He looked at his hand now, and saw it was a bloody mess. Before he could answer her, Guinevere pulled his hand out and inspected it. His face went hot again. _

"_It does not look very deep, but it ought to be cleaned and wrapped properly," she said, glancing at his face. "My home is not far—I live with Duke Cador, and I am sure he would be happy to give you aid."_

"_Lead the way," Arthur said. She nodded and started off at a brisk pace, her maid following with the dog._

"_Were you watching us back there?" she asked, pushing a strand of her golden hair from her face. _

"_Not… exactly," he answered. "After I saw you were both safe, I was trying to move on. But your dog stopped me." Guinevere nodded, and did not speak to him again. Arthur knew that his men were expecting him to meet them at the road, but he thought it would not cause any harm for him to go straight to the castle with her._

_They arrived soon. The servants hurried Guinevere inside, and the duke was alerted that they were there. A maid was sent to find water and cloth for Arthur's hand. Just as the maid disappeared, Duke Cador burst into the room. Arthur had never met the man before, but recognized him by his wealthy attire. _

_Duke Cador stopped just inside the door, staring at Guinevere as if he had seen a phantom. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Guinevere," he finally said, his tone pained. "They will be here any moment, and you are covered in… in leaves!"_

"_I was detained by this man," she said. She indicated to Arthur calmly. "Beowulf bit his hand, and has hurt him badly." _

"_Go and prepare yourself for our guests," the duke said to her. He turned to Arthur and frowned. "And who are you?"_

_Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but just then his herald was let through the door. "The knights are at the door, Duke Cador, and request entrance." _

_The duke frowned more severely. "What about King Arthur? He was expected to be part of their company." _

"_He parted with us on the road, and we had hoped that he might have already come here," the herald said, worry beginning to creep into his voice. Arthur cleared his throat, about to speak. But when the herald looked at him, he smiled. "And I see he already has!"_

"_What?" the duke glanced from Arthur to Guinevere. _

_Arthur stepped forward and bowed to the duke. "I am King Arthur, and very pleased to meet you." As he straightened, he could not help glancing at Guinevere. She had gone very pale, but at his look she turned bright red. Arthur smiled. _

Someone bumped into one of the empty chairs at his table. Arthur blinked and found himself back in the morning room.

The night had not gone particularly well. The bed was far too soft, so he had spread a blanket on the carpeted floor. But even after he was comfortable, his hunger and his thoughts had kept him awake almost all night. At dawn he had come back to the first level of the building, and noticed a room with food set out. Others had been enjoying an early meal, so he took it that anyone could eat.

Arthur did not find the food particularly delicious, but he was starving. Two hours later, he had eaten most of the round bread, and gone through a few bowls of the sweet, hard bread pieces. He stood now, going back to the table of food. After taking one of the red apples, he turned his attention to the replenished stock of bread—he thought one of the others had called the bread a "bagel."

A short, red-haired woman stepped between him and the food. Her eyes were strongly disapproving, and he recognized her as the woman who had been hovering around the table as long as he had been in the room. "I think you've eaten enough, don't you?" she said, her tone not at all friendly. "You need to go check out now."

"What?" Arthur asked, glancing longingly at the bread and then back at her face. She jerked her thumb toward the lobby. Arthur saw another man there, handing his card to the woman behind the counter. Sighing, Arthur gave the short woman a slight bow, then walked to the counter.

When he left the inn, the glass doors slid open just as they had for Kate. The first time he had seen it happen, he had thought she was some sort of magician. But he had been watching the doors this morning, and had noticed that they opened for anyone who tried to walk through them. They were probably enchanted.

He walked for a long time, mimicking the way other people stayed on the pathway beside the road rather than walking between the cars. His boots were flimsy at best, and he could feel blisters forming on his ankles. But he kept walking. He did not know what else to do.

There had to be a reason he was there—some riddle for him to solve, some quest for him to complete. Perhaps Merlin had felt he'd grown too comfortable, watching as his knights wandered the countryside in search for glory while he rested in Camelot. It would have made more sense if Kate had told him something useful. She was the first person he had seen when he woke up in this land called Berry College. She ought to have been the one with the first instructions for the quest.

Unless she was intentionally making this more difficult. He would not put it beyond Merlin to have employed the help of a fay in this complex quest. Though the doors to the inn seemed to be enchanted for everyone, Arthur was not entirely convinced Kate was not some form of magician. After all, she had read him the prophetic book.

Arthur winced at that memory, and absently rubbed the scar on the back of his hand. For a moment, it had been far too real—he was trapped somewhere out of his world, with the history of his life in his hands, and everything in it that history dead and gone.

But over the sleepless night, he had decided what had actually happened. Kate read him his future, but it had been a warning. His life was not documented in the untouchable past—it was in his hands for the molding, as soon as he could return to Camelot. He would discover for himself whether the rumors of Guinevere and Lancelot were true, and he would find a way to resolve the problem without a war.

There was a sudden rushing in his ears, like a gust of wind, and Arthur stumbled forward. _Mordred, his nephew, lay at his horse's feet, eyes dulling as blood pooled on the ground beside him. The stench of flesh was everywhere—flesh and blood and dirt. The spear in Arthur's hand fell as his fingers went suddenly limp. _

Screeching and trumpet blowing jerked Arthur back. Something struck his leg, and he fell. A man shouted at him, and when Arthur's vision cleared he found himself lying on the paved street, a car very close to his feet. His leg's throbbing dulled, and Arthur pushed himself up.

"What were you thinking, stepping out in the road like that?" the man yelled. He said a few other words, which Arthur thought might be curses.

_I am king of the Bretons and you tried to kill me! _he wanted to shout. But a heaviness fell on his shoulders, and he felt too tired to reply at all. Instead, he stumbled away.

The sun was in the west, and his empty stomach was begging for more food, when Arthur stumbled into an expanse of trees and clearings. Some people were sitting at wooden tables with food. Arthur glanced enviously at them, but went on alone into the forest.

Without thinking, he climbed into the branches of one tree. He felt safer there, as if the cars and strange sights were farther away. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the trunk and listened.

Birdsong was all around him. The notes blurred into words in his head, though he did not recognize the language. Somehow he knew that the mockingbird was calling, "_The sun is setting."_ A robin answered, "_We can see that, thank you!"_

Arthur opened his eyes, and the voices returned to senseless noise. There was a crow on a branch nearby, watching him. "I think I have lost my mind," Arthur whispered, looking at the bird. It cawed at him once. The harsh sound made him think of castle towers and graves and the hull of a merchant ship. Then the crow leapt from the branch, spreading its wings and disappearing through the treetops.

What was frightening was that Arthur had the strong compulsion to follow it.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 4: Chasing Deer

_Valhalla is a scary, scary place, my friends. Only dire need would bring one to eat there._

_Also, the deer are evil. One buck ran over my Resident Assistant when she was riding her bike. No lie._

**Chapter Four – Chasing Deer**

_If you ever feel neglected  
If you think that all is lost  
I'll be counting up my demons  
Hoping everything's not lost_

_-Coldplay, Everything's Not Lost_

The fog was thick as Kate pulled onto Berry's campus Monday morning. She waved to the gate guard, wondering how long the man had been on his shift. As she turned onto Opportunity Drive, she tried to be happy that it was the beginning of a new week.

The sun was rising, and the rows of trees to either side of the street were beautiful in misty blue. The Ford Complex was cloaked in the fog ahead of her, and it rose out of the mist like a real castle. Kate felt a smile tugging on her lips. She loved seeing dawn at Ford.

She was halfway up Opportunity Drive when a flash of two little eyes warned her. Kate slammed the breaks just in time to avoid hitting the herd of deer that jumped in front of her car. "Stupid deer," Kate muttered, tapping the wheel with her fingers while she waited for them to cross.

The last one across was rather small, and a tall form was right behind it. Kate blinked and roused herself, looking again. A man was chasing the deer.

"Hey!" Kate shouted, opening her door. "Stop that!" _College boys!_ she thought, getting out and jogging to the other side of the road. She stopped, glancing at the dewy ground. There was no way her heels would survive a run through the field.

Kate turned her attention back to the fellow and the deer. The herd had scattered by now—mere shadows in the fog—and the man was standing not very far ahead of her, his shoulders slumped.

Crossing her arms against the cold, Kate yelled, "Hey, you!" The boy turned, but it was too dark for her to see his face. "Come over here and explain to me why you were after the deer. You know if the campus police caught you, you could be arrested."

He walked towards her. She could smell him before she could clearly make out his face. He reeked, and Kate wrinkled her nose. Her mouth was opened to ask him what on earth he had done to himself, when he stepped onto the sidewalk beside her and she found herself staring up into Arthur's face.

"Oh," she whispered. A little part of her heart squirmed in guilt—similar to when she'd realized she had left that raven to die in the woods. He looked much worse than when she had left him—face ragged with exhaustion, a beard fit for a terrorist, and a hunger in his eyes.

His eyes softened a little when he recognized her. "Good morning, Kate," he said, his lips turned upward in a half-smile, as if he was too tired to do more.

Kate crossed arms tighter against her chest. "What are you doing back on campus? You aren't supposed to be here—and it's against the rules to chase the deer."

"I was hungry," he said simply.

"You were hu—You were going to kill a deer!" Kate glanced around, realizing that in the fog she did not know where the nearest campus policeman was. She lowered her voice. "How did you plan on doing that?"

He sighed, turning his hands palm up. He was holding a rock and some pink kiddy scissors. "I could not find anything sharper," he said, as if that was his great mistake. "I found it under a park bench and thought it would have to do. Once I got the first one, I would be able to fashion better weapons from the bones."

Kate gawked at him. "You're serious?"

A frown creased his forehead. "Is there a reason I should not be?"

Shaking her head, Kate told him, "Those scissors will not cut anything but paper. But if you're that hungry…" She paused, trying to let her good sense talk her out of offering anything. Her stomach knotted with guilt, though, and she burst out, "If you're that hungry, I will take you to get breakfast. But first, we have to clean you up."

The Cage was one of the newest buildings on campus, and it was definitely a sight. Kate loved walking into it, because the ceilings were so high and the building smelled so clean. She had bought herself a membership to the gym there. Though she did not find the time to make use of their facilities often, she felt like having her membership card in her pocket could count as a form of exercise. It certainly was not cheap—but then, everything on Berry was expensive.

There was a student worker behind the desk, iPod earphones in place and Facebook already opened on his work computer. Kate kept the disapproval from her eyes as the boy turned his attention to them. She held out her card to the boy, saying, "This man is my guest."

With a skeptical look, the boy swiped her card and let them through. Kate took Arthur down to the men's locker room. She paused outside the door, peering into the plastic bag she had grabbed from her car. Her father was unaware that there were Good Samaritan donation drop-offs anywhere but in Rome, and often gave her his old clothing to dispose of for him. This weekend she had left with a huge bag full of clothing, and before she left the car she had grabbed some pants and a shirt for Arthur (he looked to be about her dad's size). She had also grabbed the shampoo her mom had given her to try—a new brand that was all-natural and full of vitamins, whatever that meant. It also smelled like mango, but she figured Arthur would just have to man up and deal with it. Any smell would be better than his current one.

"Alright, I'll be waiting out here," she said, giving him the bag. "Go take a shower." He looked at her, confused. She shook her head. "I'm not going to explain it to you. Go in and do whatever all the other boys are doing."

When Arthur emerged a half hour later, he smelled strongly of fruit, but he looked clean—and very uncomfortable. The t-shirt Kate had given him hung on his shoulders loosely, showing how starved he was. The bluejeans appeared to be a fit, though…

Kate choked on a laugh. "Please, don't tuck your jeans into your boots."

Mutely, Arthur knelt and pulled the jeans down to his ankles. His movement was marked with irritation, and Kate decided it might be safer if she toned down her suggestions. When he stood again, Arthur crossed his arms self-consciously. "May we eat now?"

"Of course," Kate answered. She took him out of the Cage and to the next building, Krannert. Krannert was the student center, with a cafeteria called D-Hall downstairs. On the first level was Valhalla, which supposedly offered students better meals for their flexible meal-plans. In truth, Valhalla's little restaurants barely passed health inspections.

Kate grabbed two overpriced chicken biscuits and some milk for Arthur, then took him back to her car. "I have to get to work," she explained. "You can eat in the admissions office."

Most of the fog was gone by the time she pulled into her parking place. Arthur followed her inside, looking at the archways and towers of the buildings with that far-away expression back in his eyes. Kate pushed the door to the Admissions Office open.

"So did you get rid of the crazy king?" asked Rob cheerfully. He was sitting at one of the greeting desks, his feet propped up and a coke in his hand.

Kate indicated to Arthur, who had followed her in. "Rob, this is my friend, Arthur. Arthur, this is Robert Washington—Assistant Director of Admissions here at Berry."

Arthur nodded to Rob, but turned to Kate. "I do not mean to seem rude, but can I please eat now?"

"Of course," Kate said, handing him the bag of food and motioning him to sit on one of the couches. She motioned for Rob to go with her to the back, where their offices were.

"You let him stay with you over the weekend?" Rob hissed as soon as they were out of hearing.

Flicking her hand in dismal, Kate snapped, "I'm not an idiot. I got him a room at a hotel, but today I found him back on campus. Anyone can see he's undernourished and lost. I couldn't just let him wander around the fields like a ghost."

Rob shook his head. "He isn't a stray dog, Kate. And I hope you aren't thinking about making him another one of your 'projects.'" He bent his fingers twice, mimicking the way teenagers emphasized quotation marks.

Bristling, Kate marched to her cubicle and snatched a pile of paperwork from her desk. "I don't remember electing you to be my father," she said, scanning the first page.

"Freshman year. I was your orientation leader." He leaned on the doorway of her cubicle. "You always complained about being an only child, so I elected myself as your older brother. Look, Kate, if he sits in the lobby all day he's going to frighten the prospective families. He doesn't, erm… He has an unusual look about him. I got that from a glance—I'm sure you've noticed it."

"I'll stick him at the student desk in the back."

"And when the student workers need to get their work done?"

Kate squeezed her eyes shut. "Then—he can stay in my office."

"Not allowed. Stephen would have a hay-day about it. You know the rules." Stephen was the Director of Admissions, and could be a stickler. It was likely he would suspect Arthur of being a plant from another university, just biding his time until he could sneak onto one of their computers and get student information.

Dropping into her chair, Kate rubbed her face. Rob was going to start talking about homeless shelters next, she knew it. But something in her would not consider that a viable option. That wild look in Arthur's eyes—it was dangerous. Though it did not frighten her, she knew that others would consider it a threat. Her imagination ran with the possibilities—fights, police, arrest. He would be thrown out of the shelter, or worse.

Kate sighed, staring blankly at her desk. Taped to the wall of her cubicle—behind where her laptop would sit—was a parchment letter, with words scrawled over it in brown ink. Frowning, Kate leaned forward and pulled it down. She had forgotten it after first setting up her desk space all those years ago.

A smile tugged at her lips. She looked at Rob, and he raised his eyebrows curiously. "I know where to take Arthur," she said.


	6. Chapter 5: Lanval the Creeper

_Special thanks to all the wonderful English professors out there, and the way they make our lives more enjoyable. _

_The incident with the citation page has happened. Not to me, but it's a true story. _

_EDITED: Changed a few typos._

**Chapter Five – Lanval the Creeper**

_Lanval goes off all alone,  
Far from the others;  
-Marie de France, Lanval_

Kate led Arthur into a long brick building. Young people were crowded everywhere, with bags on their backs and books in their arms, and strings of white coming from their ears. Arthur tried not to notice the girls' shockingly bare elbows, ducking his head and following Kate up a flight of stairs. He wondered how anyone could let their daughters mingle with young men in that half-naked way.

The hallway emptied when they reached the second story. "This way," Kate said, walking to the right.

Ahead of them, a young man stumbled backwards through a doorway. A hand holding a scroll reached out from the room and hit the boy over the head. "Come back when you have a citation page!" Arthur heard someone say. The boy nodded and ran past Kate and Arthur, a look of panic on his face.

Arthur had stopped to watch, but Kate continued to walk as if she was used to these outbursts. Glancing over his shoulder in the direction the boy had gone, Arthur hurried to catch up.

He reached the door just behind Kate. There was a man inside, wearing a collared shirt and a long jacket. He had speckled brown hair, and wore thick glasses. He unrolled the paper in his hand, saying, "Yes, what do you want?"

"Hello, Dr. Cooper," Kate said, smiling.

The man looked at them for the first time, and leapt from his chair. "Miss Holland!" he said, smiling at her. "It's been a while!" He began to look over the bookshelves that lined his small room. "I have several new books that you would like."

"I appreciate that, sir." She walked inside. Arthur stayed by the door. "But I came to introduce you to a friend of mine. Dr. Cooper, this is Arthur. Arthur, this is Dr. Cooper—an English professor here at Berry."

"Good to meet you," Dr. Cooper said, holding out his hand.

Arthur hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. "King Arthur, actually," he said as he took the man's hand. He had not bothered correcting Kate, but with his meal he was feeling clear headed again. He did not mind her calling him just Arthur. But he would not permit anyone else to be so familiar.

"King Arthur of Camelot?" Dr. Cooper asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling at Kate.

"Yes," Arthur said, frowning at him.

"Then it is my honor to meet you!" Dr. Cooper bowed with a smile. Arthur was not sure if he was sincere or mocking.

Kate glanced towards the ceiling in a helpless way. "Do you think you could let him sit in on your classes today, Dr. Cooper?" Kate asked. "I think he would like that."

"Of course, Kate! Always happy to have a guest! My Arthurian Literature class is in a few minutes, which he should like."

Biting her lip, Kate began, "I'm not so sure—" A song started to play suddenly. Arthur looked around, but could not see musicians anywhere. Sighing, Kate took the small black box from her pocket. "Sorry, it's Rob. I have to get back to Admissions. I'll catch you later, Arthur—Thanks, Dr. Cooper!" She stepped out of the door, opening her box and putting it against her ear.

"Well," said Dr. Cooper, grabbing a stack of books from his desk. "Let's get started, shall we!" He walked past Arthur, speaking over his shoulder. "I have Arthurian Literature right now, and then we will go grab something for lunch, and return again for my writing class in the afternoon."

Arthur followed the man. He did not understand what was happening, but he thought it best to keep his mouth closed and observe. The looks that had passed between Kate and her friends had not escaped him. She did not mean to do him any harm, but Arthur was determined not to give them any more of a reason to think he was insane.

Dr. Cooper went into a room filled with chairs attached to tables. There were seven young people in it, with books and pencils, and they greeted the professor cheerfully. Arthur slipped into one of the chairs against the wall, ignoring the curious looks of the others.

"Well," said Dr. Cooper, plopping his stack of books on his own desk and taking a seat, "let's explore the world a bit."

"_I have always wanted to see the world," Percival said, glancing at Arthur with a grin. His dirty blond hair hung over his eyes, and Arthur wondered when he would realize that a haircut did not have to wait until his hair was two inches too long._

_Arthur shifted the reins in his hand. They were riding to a tournament, one of the few that Percival had stayed in Camelot to join. The boy had barely stopped anywhere for more than two days since he strode into court almost six months ago, clad in the ill-fitting suit his mother had sewn him and looking as wild as a dog. "Did you know there was a world to explore, before my knights found you?"_

"_Ah," he said, wincing. "You are right, sire. My mother, bless her, did not wish me to know that there existed other places beyond our land. But that day that I saw your men—it's from that day I've wanted to see the world. It feels like it's been always now."_

"_You will be able to see it now. Any of my knights would be glad of your company on their quests."_

"_Even Sir Kay?" asked Percival, glancing sideways at Arthur. He smiled disarmingly, in that open way that was unique to him._

_Arthur fought the urge to look skyward. "Sir Kay… has a quick tongue. His temper often gets him into trouble, as when you first met him."_

_Percival became suddenly grave. "I will never forget how he struck that handmaid. I won't forgive him for it, either."_

"_You will have plenty of chances to make him pay for that mistake." Arthur tapped the hilt of Excalibur. "Including this afternoon." _

_With a laugh, Percival pushed his hair out of his eyes. "It will be my pleasure."_

"… And so, Lanval is the one who rides off into the sunset behind the lady, instead of the woman riding off with the knight. Thus we can see how Marie de France actually was a feminist." Dr. Cooper pushed his glasses up on his nose, smiling at the students. "Any other observations to add?"

The young people began to put up their books, avoiding Dr. Cooper's gaze. Arthur gave the professor a little wave.

He smiled. "Yes, Arthur, would you like to say something? We have not heard from you yet."

Arthur felt the students glaring at him. He folded his hands over the desk, staring pointedly at the teacher. "The text itself can be debated endlessly. But the truth of the matter is that the story is completely wrong."

Dr. Cooper looked pleased. "How so?"

"Sir Lanval was a suspicious man, lurking in corners and rarely even eating in court. The reason he did not receive any gifts was because he was out so often, and hid himself when he was there, that it was impossible to tell whether he'd come or gone. The knights avoided him because he was cold, and the ladies shied from him because he frightened them. Furthermore, this authoress' accusation against the queen is ridiculous. Queen Guinevere would never have thrown herself on him in that cattish way. She hated the sight of Lanval—always slinking in the corners, peering in windows and such."

"Well, Guinevere was the one who claimed he made a move on her," said Dr. Cooper. "Of course she would say he displeased her."

Arthur fought down the flame of indignation that rose in his chest. "She had complained often before he made his advance that day. Besides which, Marie de France is both a woman and French. Her little story may be fetching, but it is far from true. Lanval went mad—started raving about a fairy queen he had found, which was discovered to be a horse. Gawain caught him talking to the horse about a land of fairies—and the next day man and horse disappeared. The knights tried to find him, naturally fearing he would harm himself or others. But he had disappeared."

There was a little silence. "Well, it appears we are out of time!" said Dr. Cooper, pointing at the clock. "Bring your essays next class." The students rose, glancing at Arthur as they left. A young man paused by Dr. Cooper, speaking to him about the next class. As the boy spoke, he absently twisted a silver ring on his hand.

"_This is a find," said a voice Arthur did not recognize. His vision blurred, and for a moment he saw a silver ring. It was fashioned for a man, thick and silver with a dark opal surrounded by inscriptions. Though he had never seen it before, it seemed familiar to Arthur._

He put his head in his hands, closing his eyes against the pain suddenly raging in his head.

"That was quite a version of the tale," said Dr. Cooper. He sounded far off. "I have never heard someone put that spin on it." There was a pause. Wind was rushing in Arthur's ears. "Arthur? Are you well?"

Arthur lifted his head enough to look up at Dr. Cooper. His breath felt like it was being sucked out of him. "King," he breathed. "King Arthur."

_Bedivere was standing before him, gazing down at Excalibur. The knight's eyes were still hollow with the shock of his brother's death. "Do not mourn now," Arthur whispered. "Throw Excalibur into the water, and come back to tell me what you see."_

_The tent room was so dim. Something in Bedivere's face—in the way he looked at the blade—warned Arthur. With a struggle he pushed himself up on the cot. There was a roar of pain in his chest, and then floating numbness. _

He collapsed.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 6: The Wonders of Old English

_Free cokes do amazing things to students' opinions of a college. Free Diet Dr. Pepper's do even more. Coke says, "We want you have some sugary goodness on us." Diet Dr. Pepper says, "We want you to enjoy the wonders of soda, even if you happen to be diabetic!" … At least, that's what it says to me._

_It rains at Berry College more than it does in Seattle, Washington. A statistically proven fact._

_I am not a Medievalist. So if you happen to be one, please don't burn down my house because I misquote old English. It's all in the name of good fiction, right? Also I'm not British, so if Mark's British accent doesn't come across very well... that's because accents in the text are not my forte. _

_Reviews make my day._

**Chapter Six – The Wonders of Old English**

_You want to reach out  
You want to give in  
Your head's wrapped around  
What's around the next bend  
- Jonathan Rhys Meyers & Steve Erdody, Elgar / Something Inside_

Kate picked up her purse and rubbed her eyes. Monday was over with, at least. She walked into the Admission's Lobby, her mind roaming over the various events of the day. Someone said goodnight, and she answered without thinking.

She closed the massive wooden doors behind her, and paused under the archway to look out at the view. To her left was the Ford Complex—the castle-like buildings looking gloomy under grey skies. In the distance, she could see the mountains. It was shrouded in a shadow of heavy rain.

_Rain_, she thought, nearly cursing. She had left her umbrella at her desk. She turned to go back, but a brown haired boy opened the door and came out at a sprint. He went the opposite way—towards the parking lot—with her umbrella in hand.

"Mark!" Kate called, smiling.

The student whirled. In a distinct British accent, he said, "Oh! Kate, you left your umbrella." He held it out to her, smiling sheepishly. "It's supposed to storm later. I thought you'd need it."

"Thanks," Kate said, taking it from him. "I didn't realize you were still at work."

"Ben told me to restock the fridge," Mark said, referring to the small fridge where Admissions kept sodas and waters for the prospective families. A free Coke could do wonders for a student's first impression of college. "I was going to tell him I'd finished, when I saw your umbrella at the desk."

"Are you heading back to Dana?" Kate asked, beginning to walk towards the parking lot. "I can give you a ride down there." With a relieved grin, Mark followed her. "You're a sophomore now, aren't you?"

"Yes," he answered. The usual set of questions followed: How was he enjoying his classes? Did he like his professors?

"Did you have fun over the break?" Kate asked, getting into her car and starting it up.

Mark climbed into the passenger seat, putting his backpack in his lap. "I did. I stayed with a family in Rome. It's too expensive to fly home for just a few days," he explained in answer to her questioning look. "But I liked getting to sit in on the holiday with an American family."

Carefully, Kate backed out of her spot. "I'm sorry you couldn't go home. I bet you miss your parents a lot, being so far away."

With a shrug, Mark looked out the window. "I stay with my uncle. He's pretty neat, but after living with him for almost nine years I'm ready to spread my own wings."

"Oh," said Kate, not quite sure what else was appropriate. Mark politely asked about her Thanksgiving, and she mentioned going to see her parents. She did not mention Arthur. "I'm actually going to Evans after I drop you off, to see Dr. Cooper. Hey!" she said, suddenly remembering something. "Did he help you with your translation work?"

Mark looked at her in horror, but checked himself. Coughing, he said, "Erm, yes. Sort of. I showed him the journal my mum gave me—with the Old English and everything. He seemed really impressed. I mean, he talked about Old English for two hours… that's why I was late to work about three weeks ago."

"Oh my," said Kate, trying not to laugh. "Have you gone back?"

"He invited me to," Mark said. Kate pulled up outside of the male dormitory, and Mark opened his door. "But I think I might be… ah, too busy."

Kate smiled at him as he climbed out. "I don't blame you. Dr. Cooper can scare off English majors, so it would be easy for him to intimidate for a science-minded fellow, like yourself."

Mark leaned down so that he could look at her through the door. There was a smile in his eyes, though he tried to be serious. "I'm not intimidated. Just too busy." He straightened, stepping away and swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Thanks for the ride!"

"My pleasure! Have a good night." Mark shut the door, and Kate drove away.

In all the time she'd known Mark, he had been a dedicated worker in Admissions—with a good sense of humor about his position is one of a few foreigners at the college. He was from England, and his accent drew much attention from the young ladies. That was half the reason he worked in Admissions. It was very impressive for prospective students to walk in and be greeted by a foreign student with his charming accent, which would inspire thoughts of moors and literature and Harry Potter. That was the theory, anyway.

But he was a good kid, and she hoped he would continue to thrive at Berry.

When Kate looked into Dr. Cooper's office, she saw Arthur seated in a chair with a book of illustrations in his lap. Dr. Cooper had been watching him, apparently in deep contemplation, but upon seeing her he rose with a grim smile.

"Hello," Kate said, her stomach knotting. "Is something wrong?"

Arthur looked up from the book. His face was ragged with weariness. "Good evening, Kate."

Dr. Cooper stepped around his desk, motioning Kate into the hallway. "Excuse us for a moment, Ar—erm, King Arthur." With a resigned nod, Arthur turned back to the illustrations.

"What is it?" Kate asked as soon as the door had been shut.

Dr. Cooper pushed his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose, his face both serious and excited. "You did not warn me about his fainting spells."

"Fainting spells?" Kate repeated dumbly.

The professor nodded. "At the end of our Arthurian Lit class, he passed out. But you will never guess what happened just before that!" Excitement was clearly winning, and his blue eyes practically shone with intrigue. "He began to mutter something—I could not make it out at first, but I _know_ he was speaking in Old English! All I caught of it were the words 'Excalibur' and 'flōd,' which means 'water.' Can you imagine my surprise? You didn't tell me he knew Old English!"

"I—uh—" Kate rubbed her forehead. "You said he fainted? Is he okay?"

"Oh yes, he's fine now," Dr. Cooper said, waving her concern aside. "Was only out for a few minutes. Do you know how he learned Old English? He doesn't seem to remember, or is unwilling to talk about it. When I asked him to speak it to me he looked at me like I'd lost my marbles."

After Kate had assured the professor that she did not know anything about Arthur's experience in dead languages, she stepped back into the office alone. Arthur had abandoned the book, and was leaning on one of the bookshelves, looking out the window. The sky was still overcast, with steely clouds that promised rain. She could not see his face clearly from angle, but she knew that he had drifted into his distant expression.

"Arthur?" Kate ventured. He looked at her without really turning, and the dark light of the coming storm seemed to settle in the shadows beneath his eyes. Unintentionally, Kate took a step towards him. But she stopped herself, twisting the handle of her purse in her hands. "Dr. Cooper told me you blacked out after Arthurian Lit today? Are you alright?"

His gaze slipped back to the window as the first splatter of rain hit the glass. For a few moments, he stared at the trails the water made down the glass. "I do not understand why this is happening," he said at last. "I do not understand why I am here, or why I am continually having visions."

Tentatively, Kate moved to the other side of the window, and leaned on the bookshelf beside it. She watched the shadows of the rain play on Arthur's face. He looked deadly serious, and very troubled. "What sort of visions?" she asked quietly.

He leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The first time it happened, I imagined that I saw my nephew, Mordred, at the end of my spear—that I had killed him. Today it happened twice. In one vision, I saw a silver ring. It felt familiar to me, though I do not know why. In the second, I saw Sir Bedievere holding Excalibur. I was telling him to throw it into a lake, but I knew he would not obey me. I was wounded and hurt. Then I suppose I swooned for a moment." He stared at the shelf he'd been leaning on, and absently rubbed a book's leather spine with his thumb. "I know how it sounds, Kate," he said. "But I cannot explain it."

"Hey," said Kate, smiling faintly when he turned to her. "You are going to be okay." He returned the smile, but it did not reach his eyes. Kate glanced at the door to the office. "Do you like Dr. Cooper? Because I am sure he would be happy to let you stay with him until you get on your feet. He loves anyone who loves Arthurian legend."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Arthur wince. But he said, "If he would not begrudge my company, I would like to sleep under a roof tonight."

"Then it's all settled," she said, straightening and going to the door. "I'll just double check with him, and then we three can grab dinner before you head home."

As her hand settled on the doorknob, Arthur said, "Kate?"

She looked over her shoulder, smiling again. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

* * *

_Now is the time to click that button right there. You know you want to. The cheerfulness of the pink hue as your cursor sits over it is drawing you to click. And hey, since you've already clicked it, might as well leave a review. Many thanks!_


	8. Chapter 7: Campus Police Arrest the King

_Poor Arthur does not have an easy time of it. _

**Chapter Seven – Campus Police Arrest the King**

_Then the king stablished all his knights, (...) and charged them (...) always to do ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen succour._

_-Malory, Le Morte d'Arthur _

Arthur stared at the back of the policeman's head through the ironwork that separated them. He still could not believe his misfortune. As the man wrote on a pad of paper, Arthur thought back to the steps that had brought him here.

The night before, Arthur has slept in Dr. Cooper's home. They had looked over Dr. Cooper's sword collection, which consisted of several blades with questionable make. The professor seemed to take great pride his weapons, so Arthur had not pointed out their cheap quality. He had politely requested to borrow one, just to have the familiar protection at his side. But Dr. Cooper told him that the laws of this country forbid citizens to bear arms of that type in public. Though disappointed, Arthur had accepted a pocket knife from Dr. Cooper.

Arthur had carefully inquired of Dr. Cooper how far Berry's property extended. He would never dream of hunting on anyone else's land. But the professor had assured him that the wildlife was free to be enjoyed by anyone, and that Arthur should not worry about trespassing.

The professor was a very odd man, Arthur had to admit. He was friendly enough, and very generous, but he continually was referring to a language called Old English. He asked Arthur to speak the language several times, but Arthur had no idea what he was talking about.

Today, the professor's afternoon British Literature class was taking an exam, so he had told Arthur to explore the campus a bit. Arthur took the pocket knife and set out towards the mountains.

He had been walking for some time when he stopped to find a decent stick. He carefully carved it into a spear, and then began to trek again. The deer were all over the campus, and he had already spotted several in the woods. They were quite bold—stopping to stare at him curiously, without any fear in their dumb brown eyes.

An hour later, Arthur was carrying his catch back towards the campus. He had not gone very far before he found a road, and began to follow it. Some cars passed him by, and he caught the surprised looks of several people. The buck was not _that_ good of a find, and Arthur had begun to feel uneasy.

A blue and white car had pulled up next to him and stopped. After Arthur told the man he had no license and had killed the buck with a spear, the man had clamped metal around his wrists and made him get into his car.

Now the man stopped scribbling on a notebook and looked at Arthur in the rearview mirror. "What's your name?"

"King Arthur Pendragon," Arthur answered, meeting the man's eyes.

He frowned. "Don't joke around. You're already in over your head." Arthur did not open his mouth, still glaring at him in the mirror. Rolling his eyes, the man went back to writing. "Whatever. It's your life." There was a moment of silence. "Do you know anyone at Berry?"

"Kate Holland," Arthur answered. "And Dr. Cooper."

The man turned around in his seat, his eyebrows raised. "You know Kate?" Arthur frowned at him, but nodded. The man looked at him with a measuring glare, then laughed. "Go figure! She finds a nut to be her rebound!"

"Excuse me?" said Arthur.

"Oh gosh, this is just too precious." The man threw his notebook into the other front seat, and began to drive. "Has she ever mentioned me—Josh Gip?"

"No." The man—Josh—snorted, but said nothing more. He did not seem to be the sort of man Kate would mention, so Arthur did not see why her silence would annoy him.

Several minutes later, they pulled to a stop outside of the Admissions Office. Arthur had expected to end up in a dungeon or court, so he looked up in surprise when Josh pulled his door open. "Come on, your highness," he said, half bowing and motioning to the building. Everything about him was mocking.

"Why are we here?" Arthur asked, taking his time and he got out of the car. With a smirk, Josh walked inside. Arthur clenched his jaw but followed, thinking perhaps Kate would be able to help him out of this mess.

A young man was sitting behind the desk on the right, and he looked up from a book as they entered. He glanced at Arthur, but stiffened at the sight of Josh. "Good afternoon," he said coolly.

"Afternoon, Mark. Is Kate in?"

"She's in a conference with a student. Won't be out for a bit."

Josh looked around the room. There were several families sitting on the chairs and couches, talking quietly among themselves. "Looks like it's about time for a tour group to leave. She should be back any moment. I'm sure she doesn't want her prospective student to miss seeing the campus."

"You shouldn't bother—" Mark began.

Just then, Arthur heard Kate's voice. She walked out of the back hallway, smiling at a young girl and her parents. "The tour should be leaving soon," she was saying. "Feel free to grab a coke or water while you wait."

"Thank you so much, Kate," said the girl. Kate said goodbye to the family and turned to go back.

Josh stepped forward quickly. "Hey, Kate!" Kate's shoulders went rigid, but she did not turn. "Guess who I found toting a dead deer up at Mountain Campus, without a license or an approved weapon?"

Turning on her heel, Kate snapped, "You know what—" But she stopped, seeing Arthur. Her eyes darted to the handcuffs and back to his face. Arthur could not read her expression, and felt his face heating with embarrassment. "Can we—talk about this outside, Josh?" she said, glancing over her shoulder at the people. Most were pretending not to be listening, but Arthur could see that all the attention was on Josh and Kate.

"Why should we? Are you afraid they'll find out the truth about Berry? That's infested with psychos who think they're King Arthur?"

Clenching his hands, Arthur debated punching Josh. Kate closed her eyes. The young man—Mark—leaned over to her. "Do you want me to get Rob or Ben?" he asked under his breath.

"Yeah, why don't you?" Josh said. "I don't think Kate can explain her way out of this one on her own."

Arthur took Josh and turned him around. "Your quarrel is with me. Let's go outside." Without waiting for a response, Arthur pushed Josh towards the door, one hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Hey!" Josh protested once they were out. "Get your hands off me."

With a hard shove, Arthur released him. Josh stumbled a few steps before whirling around. "You have no right to speak to Kate the way you did," Arthur said, keeping his voice even, "particularly not in such a public place. Your behavior has been cowardly. I am the one who broke the law. She had nothing to do with it."

"So this is how it is, Kate?" Josh said, addressing someone over Arthur's shoulder. Arthur half turned, and saw that Kate and Mark had followed them out. He opened his mouth to tell them to go back inside, but Josh cut him off. "You going to hide behind this big man? Well, he doesn't scare me."

Arthur turned to tell the man to shut his mouth, and met his punch with the side of his face. Stumbling forward, Arthur caught himself on the wall of the archway. _That knave hit me! _he thought blurrily. There was a rushing in his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

_Gawain was smiling at him. "Watch the low branches, sire," he said, tapping his forehead. "They have a hefty punch."_

Kate's voice. She sounded angry. Someone put a hand on Arthur's arm, and he shook the vision away. The young man—Mark—was standing next to him. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Arthur nodded, turning around and leaning back on the wall. His head still buzzed. Mark said something about getting Rob, and then ducked back inside. Kate was shouting, but her words were nonsense in Arthur's ears.

Clenching his jaw, Arthur walked forward. Kate glanced at him, and for a moment he saw and heard her clearly. "Let me handle this, Arthur," she said, waving him aside.

But he was tired of hiding behind her. To Josh, he said, "I challenge you to a duel. Dr. Cooper can provide the swords."

Both Kate and Josh looked at him in surprise. "What?" said Josh, taking a small step back.

Glaring at him, Arthur repeated, "I challenge you to a duel on the matter of Kate's honor. You will not address her as you did today—not if I have anything to say about it." His vision was still askew, tipping and foggy, but he tried not to let it show.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," Josh said, holding up his hands.

"What kind of a mouse are you!" Arthur bellowed, finally losing his temper. "Insulting a woman and then running when you are contested!"

"Kate, tell him I don't want any trouble!" Josh said desperately. Kate was gawking at Arthur, and did not seem to hear Josh's plea. "Hey, okay, you're free to go," Josh said, edging around Arthur and making a dash for his car.

Arthur took a step to follow him, but then he fell into darkness.

_He was staring at the wall. His chest ached, and he felt as if his very soul had withered. Slowly he rubbed his face, trying to draw himself out of the deafening numbness that had cloaked him ever since… ever since…_

_He shut his eyes tightly, wishing that he could forget. That tiny, tiny body…_

_The door opened. He looked over his shoulder, pushing himself to his feet. It was Gawain—barely eighteen, his face pale beneath his freckles. "So it's true?" he whispered._

_Arthur picked up his sword. "Yes," he said, pushing past his nephew and walking down the hallway. He did not want to see that shocked expression. He did not want anyone to speak of the awful night before._

"_I'm sorry," came Gawain's voice after him. It was barely an echo in the hallway, but Arthur half ran to escape it. _

"Arthur?"

Rubbing his face, Arthur looked up. He had sat down on one of the steps, and Kate was sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Exhaling, Arthur asked, "Are you alright?"

She pulled her hand back. "I am fine." Standing, she brushed off her skirt with a jerking movement. "And I would have been fine. You didn't need to scare everyone half to death with that display."

"What display?" Arthur asked, too tired to really care.

Kate motioned angrily at the place they had been standing. "How about that display when you went nuts and started shouting in another language?" she demanded. "The little show which I'm sure half the campus heard, and sent Josh running for his car. It's a wonder you weren't sent to the madhouse!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Arthur. He leaned back against the stone wall, looking up at her.

She clenched her hands into fists. "I don't know why I try to have a real discussion with you—why I think you'd listen! You have no idea what's going on around you, do you? You just sit there being doe eyed and stupid! You—"

Just then the Admissions door opened, and Rob came out with a gray haired man. "Sorry, Kate, Mark couldn't find us—Where's Josh?"

"He's _gone_," Kate snapped. "And you didn't need to bother yourselves. I could have handled it just fine if everyone would stop sticking their fingers into my business!"

"Uh," said Rob. Glowering, Kate pushed him aside and went back into the Admissions Office. Rob exchanged a look with the older man, and shrugged.

Arthur closed his eyes, rubbing his aching head again. "Do you need any help, sir?" asked the gray haired man. His eye caught on Arthur's handcuffs.

For a moment, Arthur didn't answer. Kate's last words had stung, because he knew she was right. He did not understand this place, and he did not belong. But he could not stay here, sulking for the families to see. Sighing, Arthur said, "If you could point me in the direction of Dr. Cooper's office, I would be very grateful."

"That's Arthur—the guy who's Kate's new friend," Rob told the man. "I'll send Mark out and he can give him a lift down to Evans."

Arthur did not talk to Mark on the short drive to main campus. As they pulled to a stop outside of Evans, Mark tapped the wheel. With a grunt, Arthur began to climb out. Mark bit his lip. "Hey, um, where'd you learn Old English?"

Not amused to be hearing this question again, Arthur glanced at the boy. "Why do you want to know?"

"I—well—I heard you yelling in it," Mark said, and hesitated. "I guess I could recognize it because Dr. Cooper taught me some of the pronunciation. Anyway—I was wondering because I have this book in Old English, and I've been trying to translate it…"

"I can't read," said Arthur bluntly. Disappointment flashed across Mark's face, followed by embarrassment. Arthur softened his tone as he said, "You should ask Dr. Cooper. He seems to know a good deal on the subject."

"Yeah," said Mark. He did not sound enthusiastic. "Thanks." As Arthur reached to close the car door, Mark lit up again. "Wait a second—you still have the handcuffs on." He dug in his pocket, and fished out a bit of wire. "Lean over here."

Arthur frowned, but sat again and gave his hands over to Mark. For a few minutes the boy labored on the lock, and then Arthur's handcuffs unlinked. Surprised, Arthur took them off and rubbed his wrist.

Mark grinned—a mischievous look that was vaguely familiar. "My uncle owns this old antique shop. We have to pick locks all the time—locks for wardrobes and things that have lost their keys."

With a faint smile, Arthur thanked him. He got out of the car, shut the door, and began to walk to the building. But he had not gone five steps when the weariness fell upon him again. He thought of Kate's cutting words, and tried to come up with a way to make amends.

His bones ached as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Dr. Cooper was in his office, and began to ask questions as Arthur stumbled in. Shaking his head, Arthur lay down on the small couch the professor had against one bookshelf. He fell instantly asleep.

* * *

_Arthur would feel much better if you left him a get well wish. Just click "Review this Chapter."_


	9. Chapter 8: ChickfilA and Swordplay

_Credit goes to the documentary "Reclaiming the Blade" for Arthur's fencing lesson. Great movie about swords, and I swear they find Excalibur in it. They make no such claim, but it's right there in their hands. Completely obvious. _

**Chapter Eight – Chick-fil-A and Swordplay**

_Keep on the sunny side,  
Always on the sunny side  
Keep on the sunny side of life  
-The Whites, Keep on the Sunny Side_

"I have no pride left in me," Sean Connery said. He glanced from Lancelot to Guinevere, and Kate's heart twisted. "What I do now, I do for my people and for Camelot. And may they forgive me. This is my last act as your king. Do not be afraid. All things change."

While _The First Knight_ played on, Kate thought about that first line. That moment had always struck a chord in her, when King Arthur looked at the two people who he had loved most, and said that they had humbled him. That he had lost his pride because of them.

Kate reached for the phone, hesitated, and sat back to finish the movie. But she was no longer really watching.

She had not seen Arthur all day. In fact, she had barely seen anyone all day. The admissions workers tiptoed around her, and she had let them go on thinking that she was still ready to blow. The truth was that yesterday had left her drained, and she had stopped being angry with anyone but herself the moment she stepped out of her office.

Once again, she had taken everything far too seriously.

Hugging a pillow to her chest, Kate watched as Lancelot and Guinevere gazed into the sunset. The King Arthur on the screen burned under an obviously Hollywood sky while his knights looked on in grief. Kate had never much liked Lancelot—he was a crying wuss in the traditional literature, and Malory's depiction of him had her biting her nails in frustration. Guinevere she could relate to a little bit, particularly in this version of the story. But it still felt wrong, that they stood on the shore relatively unharmed while the king and kingdom they'd undone burned.

Kate took a deep breath and turned off the TV. She picked up her cell phone and dialed Dr. Cooper's number.

It took five rings before he answered. "If your paper is late, you can just slip it under my door," he said. "I won't be in the office tonight."

Smiling, Kate twisted her fingers around the fringe of her pillow. "Hi, Dr. Cooper. It's Kate."

"Hello, Kate!" he said. "You just missed A—erm, King Arthur. He's gone to shower. Anything I can do for you?"

"Well," Kate hesitated again, feeling her cheeks go hot. "I have a question for you. Purely literature based. So, let's say I'm nasty to you, and let's say you think you're King Arthur. How do I make it up to you?"

It barely took a moment for Dr. Cooper to answer. "Take me on a hunt!"

Kate rolled her eyes. "Any other ideas?"

"Erm, fencing?" Dr. Cooper suggested. "Horseback riding? Tournaments? Or," she could hear a smile in his voice now, "you could just straight apologize."

"Did he talk about it?" Kate asked, her voice lowering in dread.

"I'm not going to report on his conversation to you," Dr. Cooper said, though not unkindly. "How about you take him to Chik-fil-A tomorrow for lunch and work it out, hm?"

Sighing, Kate leaned her head against the back of the couch. "Okay. Tell him I'll pick him up outside of Evans."

"Got it. Goodnight."

Arthur was waiting for her when she pulled up, his hands in his pockets. She noticed that he was wearing a new button-up shirt, and had shaved again. The maroon of his shirt contrasted pleasingly with his blue eyes. But Kate couldn't help noticing that his expression was guarded as he got into the car.

Conversation took a gasping breath, and then died. Kate drove to the mall, feeling very awkward.

By the time she had parked, she couldn't stand it anymore. She turned to Arthur and opened her mouth—but then gaped. "You aren't gripping the dashboard!"

He looked at her, and one eyebrow lifted a little above the other. "No… I'm not."

Kate felt herself grinning, though she wasn't sure why. "But—that's great!"

A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He reached forward and climbed out of the car. "I've been in cars quite often the past couple of days. Dr. Cooper has a very long commute."

Kate got out, too, tugging her jacket back into place. Arthur had stopped behind her car to wait, and he touched her arm for a moment as she stepped past him.

"Look out," he said, pointing to a backing up car. Kate was nearly speechless. He knew how to navigate a parking lot.

They went inside, and Arthur said he wanted whatever she was having. She took out her purse to pay, but while she was digging for her credit card the man behind the counter said, "Thank you, sir." Kate looked up, and found Arthur had already handed him cash.

"Arthur!" Kate sputtered, almost too surprised to get the word out. He looked at her and smiled, taking the change from the man. Kate couldn't help smiling back.

When they had sat with their food, Kate took a deep breath and looked at him. He was rolling the chicken nugget over in his hand, his expression quite skeptical. Trying to be serious, Kate said, "Arthur—I'm sorry about the other day. With Josh." Arthur put the chicken nugget down, his full attention on her now. "It was stupid to get mad at you. He just has a way of bringing out the worst in me." Kate winced. "I mean—but that doesn't mean it was his fault I was a jerk. Anyway, I wanted to say I'm sorry." She shoved a chicken nugget into her mouth to make herself stop rambling.

"Apology accepted," Arthur said. He hesitated a moment, and then asked, "Had he—where you both—well, courting?"

Kate took a sip of her sweet tea. "Sort of. But it was stupid of me to get involved with him. Not that he'd ever been that mean until Tuesday."

Arthur nodded, taking a careful bite of his chicken nugget. Kate watched as his expression changed from wary to awed. She laughed a little.

Everything went better after that. Arthur asked her about her job, and she tried to describe being a recruiter for students to him. Though she could see that he didn't understand it all, she could also tell that he was trying hard. She asked him what he had been doing with Dr. Cooper, and he talked about the various classes he had sat through.

"Actually," he began, fidgeting with his now-empty chicken nugget box, "Dr. Cooper has asked me to show the students a few things this afternoon. He has a very small class that is studying Arthurian Lit. They are going to be—um—_filming_ this afternoon, for some sort of project. It involves swords. He wants me to show them how to use the swords."

"You can fence?" Kate asked. She didn't know why she was surprised.

He nodded. "Of course." Glancing over their trash, he began to gather it into the Chick-fil-A bag. "Anyway—ah—if you were free this afternoon, you could come. It should be pretty… interesting."

Kate smiled. "What time?"

"One to two, Dr. Cooper said."

A glance at her watch revealed that it was already ten till one. Kate jumped up. "We'd better get moving, then!" Arthur followed her, tossing the trash into a trashcan they passed.

They arrived in the classroom just in time. Dr. Cooper had ten swords sitting on the teacher's desk, and he smiled when they came in. "You all know King Arthur," he said to his students, his voice quite serious. "And I think most of you know Kate Holland from Admissions?"

Kate recognized a few of the students as her old prospective students. She gave them a little wave and smile.

"King Arthur is going to show us a few basics with the sword, before we go to Deerfield for some action shots. Take it away, sir." Dr. Cooper bowed his way to the side of the room. Kate was amused, remembering when he would do that during her classes.

Arthur looked over the swords for a moment. He selected a copy of Anduril, Aragorn's sword in _The Lord of the Rings. _It had been constructed from Narsil, the blade that struck the One Ring from Sauron's hand.

Kate shook her head, drawing herself back from her old English Major musings. Arthur was showing the students the proper way to stand—one foot a little forward, the other a little turned outward. He went through a few simple steps, then turned to Kate.

"If you would be so kind," he said, a smile in his eyes as he indicated she pick a sword. Kate bit her lip, but selected a nameless longsword from the desk. Arthur showed her how to stand, and walked both her and the students through a fighting maneuver.

"You start to thrust, Kate," he said. As she slowly reached out her arm, he continued to narrate his moves for the class. "I turn, bracing my blade with my hand carefully. I change my momentum—grab the blade like this," he took hold of his sword, "and swing it up to try to hit her in the head with the hilt." He stopped the movement with the hilt still high above her. He then put it aside to take her hands. "Kate, you block me with your sword—holding it with both hands in a line above your head. So when I swing," he took his sword and swung it up again, "my hilt gets caught by your blade. I pull down," he pulled, forcing Kate's weaker arms to lower her sword, "so that I can then hit you under the chin with my pommel. But all you have to do is let go of your blade tip." She let it go, and his sword slid to the ground, except for the part of the blade he was still holding. He smiled. "And I'm unarmed."

"Looks way too complex," said one of the students.

Arthur turned to them. "Nothing's too complex," he said. "Not if you give it some practice."

When the students left an hour later to go film, Kate collapsed into one of the desks. Her arms and legs ached, but she felt energized. Arthur smiled at her, leaning against the wall.

"Did you like it?" he asked. She nodded. He tucked his hands into his elbows. "I haven't told Dr. Cooper, but all his weaponry would not last a moment in battle. The sword I was using to practice would shatter in less than ten minutes under real combat."

"I imagine you would say that," Kate said. He glanced at her, unsure if she doubted his word. But she smiled. "I believe you."

"Good," he said, "because it's true."

* * *

_The "Review this Chapter" button, right there. It begs to be clicked. It pleads. You really want to push it. Thanks!_


	10. Chapter 9: An Unusual Read

**Chapter Nine – An Usual Read**

_Just because I'm hurting  
Doesn't mean I'm hurt  
-Coldplay, Lost?_

The writing was in blue ink, the letters smooth and flowing. He traced them with his fingertips, delighting in the gentle brush of the parchment against his skin. The book had always held a particular smell to it—like wine and dust, and maybe old flowers. Often he tried to convince himself that smell was his mother's, but he could not remember what she had smelled like.

Mark glanced around the empty Admissions Office, then leaned back into his chair, the book propped on his knees. _You ought to be studying for that English final,_ he thought. He glanced at his American Literature textbook, sitting on the desk, and suppressed a shudder. _Later_, he promised himself, turning back to his mum's book.

He had been ten years old when his mum died, and about the only thing she had left him was this little book. Everything else went to pay off debts. His father had died years before that, and his mum had never been able to hold a steady job. Besides, she insisted on homeschooling him, so she could only work night hours.

Mark liked to think about those times—sitting over his elementary biology book with her, while she rubbed her eyes and confused herself trying to explain it to him. He'd jump up and make her some tea, and suddenly they would have switched roles. With an expert's smile, he would tell her what the book was saying—naming off bones and muscles without any trouble. She would smile, roll her eyes a little and say, "You're so much like your father." He didn't have any memories of his father.

Her car had skidded out of control one cold night. Mark had sat by the window in their flat past one in the morning, getting up to reheat her tea every ten minutes or so. But it was his uncle, Charlie, who had stepped through the door, grabbed him by the shoulder and rushed him to the hospital. Not that it had mattered. She died five minutes before they walked in.

For a long time, Mark hadn't cared why she left him this little book. It was written entirely in Old English, which neither he nor his uncle understood. But on an impulse Freshman year, he'd thrown it in his suitcase. Ever since then, the mystery of her last message to him was constantly buzzing in the back of his head.

Mark formed the words with his mouth, trying to sound them out in the way Dr. Cooper had shown him. It was weird, because normally reading literature made his head hurt. He preferred science—it was solid, tested, measured—to books—which required a great deal of discussion, and often had no right answers. But when he read this, he did not get frustrated, even though he couldn't understand a word of it.

"Practicing again?" asked someone. Mark blinked a haze out of his eyes, and saw that Kate was stealing a mint from the bowl on his desk.

"Sorry," said Mark, putting the book down. He was not supposed to read at work. Particularly not something that was unrelated to academia.

Kate shrugged, pulling the mint out of its wrapper. "Have you thought about showing that to Arthur?" she asked. He had told her last semester about his goal of figuring out what the book meant.

"He said he can't read," Mark answered, holding out his hand for her wrapper and dropping it into his trashcan. Arthur was a puzzle that Mark couldn't put together. Rob had spread rumors across Admissions that Arthur was out of mind, but Mark was not sure he agreed. Of course, it was impossible that Arthur was King Arthur. But there was something unusual about him. After Josh had punched him on Tuesday, Mark could have sworn—but he stopped his train of thought there. He could not explain what had happened when he touched Arthur's shoulder, and what he could not explain was not something he wanted to think about.

Kate was sucking on her mint. "What if you read it aloud to him?"

"What?" asked Mark, drawing himself back to the present.

"You know," she said, smiling, "put Dr. Cooper's good instruction to use. Arthur obviously can speak it—I bet he could understand it if it was spoken."

"I…" Mark began to smile, hope rising in his chest. "That's a great idea, Kate."

"Are you free after five?" she asked. "He has to catch a ride home with Dr. Cooper, but he could probably meet with you for at least a half hour."

Mark readily agreed. At five o'clock, he met with Arthur and Kate outside the Jewel Box. Thankfully, Dr. Cooper had papers to grade in his office, so he was unable to come. Mark had harbored a dread of the professor ever since the age-long speech he'd given about Old English the first time Mark met him.

"There are plenty of deer out today," Kate remarked, sitting on one of the rocking chairs.

Arthur grumbled something. Mark smiled, sitting down too. He opened his book, and glanced apologetically at Arthur. "I don't know how good I'll be at this."

Sitting in the rocking chair beside him, Arthur said, "I don't know how good I'll be at understanding. But we can give it a try." He smiled faintly, and turned to look at the deer.

Mark cleared his throat, thumbing to the part of the book where he had left off. He began to read, slowly at first, but with growing confidence. Though he'd never learned the language, he found it was quite easy after the first few paragraphs. It felt natural. It felt… refreshing.

He glanced up after about two pages, and his eyes met Arthur's for a moment.

Something lurched inside his chest—and he started to cry out in pain, but his breath was gone. He couldn't see for a moment, and he felt like he was falling through an airless hole. His lungs burned, his eyes watered—

_He was flying. Vision was warped, blurred at the edges. There was sky—sky above and ahead. Autumn breeze beneath his wings. _

_Something hit him. He plummeted, landed on stone. He was lying on his back. Agony coursed through his being. Chest felt crushed. Wing broken. _

_Kate was leaning over him. Something white and flimsy covered him. He was being carried. When he could see again, he was staring at the tree tops. A voice spoke. The words were hard to understand. "I wish I could help you. But I don't even know who to call about this sort of thing." A pause. "Sorry."_

_With one eye, he saw her rushing away. Breathing was getting easier. Chest and wing felt like it was being sewn together._

Then that rushing sensation—this time like wind blowing through his hair, drowning him in its ferocity—and Mark was back on the porch outside of the Jewel Box, staring at Arthur.

Arthur closed his eyes, slumping forward. For a moment, nausea overcame Mark, and he thought he was going to thrown up.

"Oh my gosh, did you guys see that?" Kate asked. Mark gulped and looked, though the world was still spinning. Kate was standing a few feet in front of them, pointing at the herd of deer. She turned around. "One of the deer just vanished, I swear!"

Rubbing his face, Arthur pushed himself to his feet. He swayed, and put a hand on the back of his chair for support. "What?"

Frowning, Kate came back them. "Did you have another vision?" she asked Arthur. He nodded, though he did not say anything.

A cold sweat had broken out up and down Mark's arms. He felt a little feverish. The feeling was familiar—almost a week ago he had fallen into a fever that came and went within hours, but was worse than anything he had lived through before. Dreading that it could be happening again, Mark pushed himself up to his feet.

Kate was explaining about the deer. "I was watching it. It was a buck—with small antlers. I blinked and he was just—gone. I can't explain it."

"I'll catch you guys later," Mark muttered. "Thanks, Arthur."

He fished in his pocket for his ID card, glad that his dorm room was not far. Kate was saying something—she sounded worried. Mark turned to face her, but the movement sent the world tipping. Two arms caught him as his legs gave out.

"Here, let's help him to his room, Kate." That was Arthur's voice. Mark managed to get his legs to work, though he could barely see.

Something cold was pressed against his forehead. "He's burning up," Kate said.

When Mark opened his eyes, he found himself in his dorm room. Arthur was standing near his bedside, and Kate was on the phone with someone. "What did the book say?" Mark asked. His voice sounded hoarse.

Arthur turned to him. "What?"

He felt like he was looking down a telescope the wrong way. "What did it say, in Old English?"

"It was all riddles," Arthur answered. "Even if you could speak the language, it makes little sense. It reminded me of…" But he paused, and thought better of whatever he was going to say. "I was never the quickest at solving word games," Arthur said apologetically. "It would take me at least an hour to decipher one page of what you read, and even then I might understand it wrong."

Kate walked over, putting her hand on Mark's forehead and biting her lip. "I've called the Waters," she said, naming the family in town that Mark stayed with. "They should be here soon. We'll keep you company until they come."

Mark nodded, closing his eyes. His thoughts were jumbled, but one pierced through the mist: _I shared Arthur's vision._

_

* * *

Mark is very confused. Leave a review and let him know what you think!_


	11. Chapter 10: Finals and Deaths

_Finals are a method of destruction, trust me._

_Also: Lancelot is of course absent when his lady washes up at Camelot. He's probably hanging out with Guinevere somewhere. Eventually I'll work him into the story._

**Chapter Ten – Finals and Deaths**

_Yet never had they a child together, nor betwixt them might get an heir._

_-Wace, Roman de Brut_

The word was on everyone's lips: _Finals_.

Dr. Cooper had explained to Arthur that all the students' schooling for this semester had lead up to these important tests. It was difficult to understand how they could be so worried about something on paper, but Arthur supposed it must be like a jousting tournament for them. This was their chance to measure themselves, and to see if there was some substance in their character.

Because the finals required Dr. Cooper's attention, Arthur had excused himself to look around the campus. An hour ago, he had found a bench outside the library. He sat there, watching the students as they paced from library to academic buildings. Every eye was anxious, and a few girls chewed their lips as they went by. Others had little colored pieces of paper in hand, and were muttering under their breath. Arthur wondered if Mark was in such a state of fretfulness.

Last Friday, Kate and he had left Mark in his room once the Waters arrived. Arthur had not seen him since. When Arthur had stopped in the Admissions Office around noon, Kate told him that Mark had been there that morning, and he seemed well recovered. Without commenting about the strange vision or his suspicion that Mark had experienced something equally trying, Arthur had accepted her news.

A young woman walked by, her hair in a braid and on hand on her stomach. Arthur felt his throat tighten as he realized that she was pregnant. She glanced at him in passing, a smile starting on her lips as she turned to laugh at something her friend had said.

He remembered.

_Guinevere smiled, her hand lightly resting on her swollen belly. His eyes followed her arm down to the spot, and he brushed his fingers over the fabric of her dress. "Do not worry," she said, a bit of a laugh in her tone. "It will be here any time."_

"_I just wish it would be over with," Arthur admitted, keeping his hand beside hers and looking into her eyes. "I wish that tonight you would have it, and by dawn we would be a proper family."_

_She shook her head, touching his hair. "Your open heart is both your strength and your fault, my king," she said. "You carry all our burdens, and never suspect that we may be unworthy of your concern."_

"_You and the little one are the most worthy of my concern," Arthur said, leaning up and kissing her on the cheek. He could feel her smile in the way her skin wrinkled under his touch. _

_Someone knocked, and with a sigh Arthur got to his feet. Gawain was at the door, looking serious. Ever since Morgan had sent her sons into Arthur's care, Gawain had been his favorite. He was still young—eighteen now—with auburn hair and green eyes. Arthur suspected that in time he would catch many a lady's fancy, but for now he was still very much a boy. _

_There was rumor of an enormous boar on the grounds, and Gawain wanted to know if Arthur would give it chase? Arthur agreed readily and sent him to summon the knights, almost glad to escape. Guinevere smiled in that knowing way when he left, and he could not help agreeing with her earlier accusation that he worried too much. _

_It was nearly dawn when they returned. Kay came running to the gate, looking as if he had not slept at all. There was something in his eyes—fear and grief. Arthur's heart went cold. _

_Guinevere was awake when he stepped into the room, but she was turned away from the door. Her maids sat around her quietly. The midwife rose, motioning Arthur out. She had a bundle in her arms. _

_The body was so small. Arthur looked at it for a few minutes, the dawn light streaming through the windows and covering the room in a golden tint. It was a boy, stiff and cold now. _

"_She will not be able to bear children, sire," the midwife whispered. Arthur nodded, the words barely sinking in. _

Arthur opened his eyes, trying to rid himself of the memory. The autumn sky was still overhead, and students were flooding in and out of the buildings. His skin felt clammy, as if he was waking up from a nightmare. Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet. Perhaps he would go back up to Admissions.

On his way, Arthur saw Mark was walking in the opposite direction. Arthur was glad to see a familiar face. "Hello!" Arthur said, stopping when they were about to pass each other.

Mark jumped a little, jolted out of his thoughts. "Oh—hi," he said. He shifted his book bag, his eyes nervous. "I can't really stop—got a final to get to."

"Sorry," Arthur said, though he felt that Mark wasn't eager to get somewhere as much as he was eager not to talk. "I'll see you later."

With a quick nod, Mark continued. Arthur watched for a moment.

_He heard the chirp of a bell. A man looked up, old rag in hand as he wiped down the countertop. Nothing changed about his expression or movement, but he was different after he saw whoever had entered. _

"_Good morning," he said, his London accent heavy. _

"_We came about the ring you sold us," spoke someone Arthur could not see. "It's quite an interesting find."_

"'_Fraid I don't know much about it. Didn't even know it was in the shop till you bought it last week."_

_Two men moved into Arthur's sight, beginning to search the shop. The third man—the one who spoke—said, "Don't lie to us. We know who you are. We know what this is."_

"_I've no idea—"the shopkeeper began. He cut himself off, his eyes widening in horror. _

_One of the two men stood. There was a hole at his feet where a floorboard had been. He held out an ancient book. "Here it is."_

Arthur blinked, and the scene was gone. Air rushed back into his lungs—he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath. Students were pushing past him. He was still standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching the direction Mark had gone.

When he arrived at the Admissions Office, the student at the front desk told him that Kate was in conference. He went back outside, and stood by the reflection pool. Though it was a chilly day, the sun was pleasantly warm, and his feet felt sweaty in his boots. Arthur sat on the stone beside the pool. He took off one boot, then the other, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Cautiously he eased them into the water.

It was freezing, but it felt good against the few blisters he'd developed. Then his ears started buzzing with the sound of wind. He had just enough time to brace himself before—

_The water was freezing as he waded into the river. He reached out, putting a hand against the side of the boat. It slowed to a stop, rocking a little in the tide. The woman did not stir._

"_She is dead," he said, his voice hollow. On the shore, he heard the murmur of knights. _

_She was beautiful. Her hair was bright, like autumn leaves. Her dress showed her to be a woman with means, though she was not noble. Arthur's eyes caught on her hands, one holding a delicate lily and the other folded over a piece of parchment._

_Reverently he took the paper from her. "She has a letter to us. Her last wishes, I think." Arthur turned, stepping closer to the shore and handing it up to Sir Gawain. Bowing his head in respect, Gawain turned and gave the letter to a scribe that had come with them. _

_He read it—a confession of love for Lancelot, from which this woman had died. Arthur turned back to the maid in her boat, his heart twisting in pity. He felt that she would not be the last to die for Lancelot._

There was a little splash. Arthur shook his head, trying to draw himself back. It was a moment before the face of the dead woman disappeared, and he saw that Kate was sitting beside him. Her feet were bare and in the water. She was smiling, and she splashed his arm again lightly. "Don't get lost," she said. "It's a beautiful day."

Faintly smiling, Arthur said, "Sorry. I didn't realize you were there."

"I noticed." Kicking her feet under the water, she said, "Did you know a boy once drowned himself in this reflection pool?"

Arthur looked down at the water. It was less than two feet deep. "Really?" he asked.

"No, just kidding," she said. "It's a popular myth among students." He shrugged at little, not understanding the joke. But Kate didn't seem to notice. She leaned back, tilting her head up towards the sky. "It's wonderfully warm for so late in the year." When he didn't answer immediately, she glanced at him. Her eyes grew serious. "Are you alright?"

Arthur rubbed his head. "Just visions. They're getting more frequent." He pulled his feet out of the cold water, scooting back so that he was sitting on the grass.

"Maybe… you should see one of the councilors about it?" Kate suggested, turning so she could put her feet on the warm stone beside the pool. She hugged her knees loosely, watching him. "The psychiatrists, I mean. They could help."

Arthur leaned back until he was lying on the ground. He closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of the grass. "I don't think there's anyone who can help me, Kate," he said. She didn't answer, but he felt her touch his arm. He cracked an eye open, squinting at her. The sun was in his eyes, and he couldn't see her face clearly. "But it's like you said before: I'll be alright."

He wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 11: The Calm

_The last chapter before everything takes off. Enjoy it while you can, Kate and Arthur. Cue evil laughter here._

**Chapter Eleven – The Calm**

_Love, will you ever forgive me?  
If I slip and let you fall  
I'm not sure that I could catch you  
Cause I'm still learning how to love  
-Elenowen, The Storm_

"This way," Kate said, walking around the road block and up the path. Arthur followed, glancing up at the treetops.

"How far is it?" he asked, slipping his hands into his coat pockets.

"Not far. Shouldn't take us that long." Kate scanned the ground, grabbed a decent looking walking stick and tossed it to him. "Try to keep up," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He caught it with no trouble. "Remind me again why we're doing this?" he asked, walking next to her. "Not that I mind trekking up a mountain on a chilly day."

"Because rain is in the forecast for the next week, and I want to take advantage of this gorgeous afternoon," Kate answered, pulling her jacket closer. "And because you haven't seen the House of Dreams yet, and it has a beautiful view of the campus."

They walked up the gravel path in silence for a few minutes. Kate's afternoon student sessions had been cancelled, so she had decided that a hike would be the perfect way to take advantage of this rare treat. She liked to go up to the House of Dreams at least once every year. The world always seemed simpler from the top of the mountain.

"What do you do over the winter break?" Arthur asked suddenly, looking at her.

"Well… I work," Kate replied. "I take about ten days off around Christmas and New Years. But otherwise I'll still be around."

"Dr. Cooper is talking about flying to England for a few weeks," Arthur said. "He wants to do some research for a class he'll have next semester. He's asked me to come along."

Kate glanced at him in surprise. "Why?"

He shrugged. "He says I might have an interesting perspective on the sites he will be visiting. He also wants me to help with some translation work."

"Are you going to?" she asked.

"Haven't decided yet," Arthur grunted. The steep incline of the mountain made conversation impossible for a few more minutes.

They came out onto the lawn of the House of Dreams, and paused to catch their breath. "The students built this for Martha Berry, our founder," Kate said, motioning to the house. "It was her birthday present, their message of gratitude for all she'd given them."

"It's a lovely house," Arthur said, though he turned to the view. Kate watched him, and she could tell by the glaze that came over his eyes that he was gone again.

"Arthur?" she said, snapping in front of his face.

He didn't blink or flinch. Kate bit her lip. Dr. Taylor had told her that he was getting worse by the day. She was on the verge of sending him to a doctor—only she was afraid that a physician would not know how to help. Perhaps he would be prescribed medication that would alter him. As much as Kate did not want him to suffer, she also did not want him to change.

"Arthur," she tried again, pinching his arm.

This time he started, jerking back. There was a fire in him when he looked at her—but he blinked and it was gone. He passed a hand over his face. "Sorry. I—I'm sorry, Kate."

Kate turned to the view, crossing her arms over her chest. "What did you see?" she asked.

He ran his thumb over the length of his walking stick, quiet for a moment. "I thought I was back in Cornwall, with Guinevere. Before we were married."

"You looked a little cross at first," Kate said, trying to tease him.

A worn smile turned up the corner of his lips. "We quarreled. She wished to be married at her home. I wanted to take her back to Camelot for the ceremony."

"And who won?" Kate asked.

"Guinevere. We stayed the whole winter there, near Cador's place." He smiled, but his gaze was fixed sadly on the view. For a few minutes, he did not continue. "We had one child, Guinevere and I," he said at last. Kate looked at him, but did not interrupt. She did not remember learning this in her literature classes. "She had a miscarriage. I don't—entirely understand how it happened. I wasn't there." He winced a little, and dropped his gaze to the grass. "Something changed after that, though I didn't realize it until a long while later. Do you remember how, right after we met, you showed me that book by Malory?"

Kate grimaced. "I remember."

"It was one year after the child died that Sir Lancelot came to the court," Arthur said. "Guinevere and I—well, we rarely spoke to each other by then. I do not know what she felt, but it hurt me to see her and know that we would have no heirs. So I worked with the knights, trained and ruled. I think now that I left myself undefended. I left her unprotected. That they both needed companionship, I don't doubt. But I might have stopped the affair, if I had been stronger, if I hadn't been scared off by grief."

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Finally, Kate offered, "When I am hurting, I tend to overreact—you've seen that. It's just how I protect myself." She looked at him. "I don't think trying to be secure is wrong. I think it is natural."

"But when protecting yourself harms those you love?" Arthur asked, glancing at her. "It would be better to be vulnerable yourself."

Kate frowned a little. "That does not sound like something a knight would be taught. Can't you protect yourself and others at once?"

"Not all the time," he answered. He looked down, beginning to pick the bark off his stick. "I'm not the same person I was then," he admitted. "I would have seen vulnerability as a weakness. I suppose I've changed between then and now."

"Well, you can put your lessons to use," Kate said. "You've been given a second chance, I suppose."

"But not where it might have counted," he said quietly. He paused, shifting his jaw. "I don't think I will ever see any of them again, Kate."

She said nothing, watching his hands as he pealed the bark. They were calloused with years of work, and there was dirt under his fingernails. When he plucked off the chunks, he dug his finger between the wood and the bark and yanked with a quick jerk. He stopped after a moment, swing the staff and leaning on it a little. Kate glanced at his face, and saw that he was watching her.

"You still think I'm insane," he said, his voice reserved.

A thousand answers sprang to her mind. _Don't over think it this time,_ she told herself, knowing that every second she hesitated would hurt him. Shaking her head, she answered with her instinct. "No, I don't. I don't—understand how it could be true, but—I do trust you."

He smiled faintly. "Really?"

"Really." A weight lifted from her chest, and she smiled. "Come on, let's look around the gardens."

* * *

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	13. Chapter 12: Jetlag and Telepathy

_London is based on my memories from like... over a year ago, so I make no promises as far as accuracy goes. This also applies to Mark's British accent (or lack thereof). _

_That said, I am quite excited about the upcoming adventures. _

**Chapter Twelve – Jet-Lag and Telepathy **

_The plane leaves for London  
Flying towards a million stars  
- Trent Dabbs, Versus _

Mark pulled on his shoes, tying them deftly while the crowd of people flowed around him. The Atlanta Airport was nightmarish, but, now that security was conquered, he began to relax. He stood, shouldering his backpack and making his way towards the international section.

When he arrived at his gate, he dumped his bag on an empty seat and took out his cell phone. He rang his uncle's number.

No answer, which was unsurprising. It was almost eleven in London, and his uncle never stayed up past ten. Besides that, his uncle had stopped answering his phone a few days ago. _Probably just busy with the shop,_ Mark told himself. He left a message.

"Hey, Uncle Charlie. This is Mark. Just wanted to let you know I'm at the gate. I'll text you before the flight takes off. Should be landing about… one thirty, I think." He paused. "I haven't heard from you in a couple of days. Give me a call when you're at the airport, okay? I'll see you soon."

The phone beeped as he ended the call. Mark took a deep breath, homesickness twisting in his stomach. The semester was finally through, and he was so close to being home.

Sitting, Mark leaned against the uncomfortable airport chair. It reminded him of the chair in Dr. Cooper's office—the one what always dug into his back when he tried to relax. Mark had paid the professor one last visit before he left. The truth was, Mark was getting nowhere with translating his mother's book on his own, and it was pointless for him to keep reading it when he didn't understand a word of what he said. The professor had been quite eager to take up the translation work, and promised to have a chunk of it done when Mark returned. He didn't like leaving the keepsake with anyone, but he knew that Dr. Cooper could be trusted to keep it safe.

Another headache was throbbing just behind his eyes. Mark glanced at the knickknack shop nearby, where he could see Advil on display. Even as a child, Mark had not been allowed to take medication, not even over-the-counter pills. His mother had been an avid believer in natural remedies, and his uncle had upheld her rules.

Once, when Mark was thirteen, he had gotten a splitting migraine. He finally begged his uncle for Advil, Tylenol—anything to ease the pain. Instead, his uncle had handed him a sprig of mint and a wet washcloth.

"_What am I supposed to do with this?"_ Mark had snapped.

"_Chew one, put the other on your face,"_ was his uncle's reply. "_I think you can figure out which is which."_

"_Why can't I just take something for it?" _Mark groaned, throwing the cloth over his aching forehead.

His uncle snorted. "_You don't want to end up like Sir Isaac Newton, do you?"_

It was an old family saying. Even his mother had used it a few times, though Uncle Charlie was particularly fond of the phrase. "_What does that even _mean_?" _Mark cried as his uncle left the room.

Now, Mark walked to the display stand. He turned the little bottle in his hand. He was an adult now, and he did _not_ want to get a migraine in the middle of the flight. Digging in his pocket for cash, he paid for it.

An hour later, Mark was handing his ticket and passport to the flight attendant. She ran it under the scanner and smiled. "Have a good flight."

Mark returned the smile, beginning the walk down the platform. There was a line through the door of the plane, and he came to a stop behind a red-haired young woman. With a nervous expression, she glanced over her shoulder, looking for someone behind him. Her face was white beneath her freckles—but Mark couldn't tell if that was because she was Irish, or if she was ill. She swayed a little, her hand tightening on her rolling suitcase.

His phone buzzed inside his pocket, and he fished it out. Caller ID said it was his uncle. Surprised, Mark flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Mark—" his uncle began.

The red-head collapsed. "Call you back!" Mark said even as he closed his phone. People were exclaiming, calling for a doctor. He knelt beside her, helping her to sit up again.

She looked at him, eyes wide with panic. Somehow Mark knew: She was type one diabetic. Her blood sugar was plummeting. She kept her emergency shot in her purse, along with some frosting.

Mark helped the girl sit against the wall. Girls' purses were one of the three things he feared in life, but he got the tube of frosting out of it without much searching. He squeezed an abundance of frosting onto his finger and put it against her lips. Her shaking hand grabbed his wrist as she ate it. He could feel the terror radiating from her.

"You're going to be fine," he said, mustering a smile. People were moving quickly behind him, but he kept his eyes on her face. He gave her some more frosting. "This will bring it up. Lie still."

A doctor arrived in a moment, and took Mark's place. Another man ran up—older, but with traces of red still in his hair. "Eve!" he said, sitting in front of her and grabbing her hand.

The flight attendants began ushering people around the scene and onto the plane, assuring everyone the woman would be fine. Mark glanced back at her and her father once, but then took out his cell phone and boarded.

Once he had found his seat and gotten settled, he dialed his uncle's number. Busy. Sighing, Mark turned his phone off. He stuck it in the pocket of the seat in front of him, and tried to make himself comfortable.

_How did I know what she needed?_ he wondered. She must have been wearing one of those medical bracelets. He had seen it unconsciously, and that had been his clue. The frosting—that was just logically what she needed, and what she would keep in her bag.

Over the course of the flight, his headache continued to grow. He could not sleep, and spent most of the time flipping between bad movies. For a while he listened to his iPod, but seven hours into the flight the throbbing in his head made it unbearable to listen to anything besides the hum of the engines.

At eight hours, he finally gave in. He took two Advil, and sat back waiting for the pain to ease up.

The pain did fade away, but it left him feeling jittery. _Must be jetlag,_ he guessed as they circled London. He looked at the familiar city below—his heart racing in anticipation of finally being home. As soon as they were at the gate, Mark grabbed his backpack and filed out behind everyone else. He rubbed his eyes, smiling at the thought of seeing his uncle in just a few minutes.

When he was off the plane and walking quickly to customs, he remembered that he hadn't turned on his cell phone. His fingers brushed against the bottom of his pockets as he dug for it. "Oh great," he muttered, coming to a stop. He stepped out of the way of the others, looking through his backpack. But no, he'd left it on the plane.

Frustrated with himself, Mark hurried back to the gate. People were still unloading, but a flight attendant volunteered to go have a look around his seat for him. Mark waited impatiently.

"We can't find it," said the flight attendant, coming back out. "Are you sure you don't have it with you?"

"I mean—I'm pretty sure." Mark checked again, mostly to satisfy them with proof. When he could not find it, the flight attendant left to search more thoroughly.

It was nearly forty-five minutes later when Mark stomped to customs, still without his phone. His uncle would be having a fit, wondering where he'd gotten off to.

Customs was a mess, but at last Mark emerged in the arrivals lobby. Grinning despite his foul mood, he scanned the faces for his uncle, Charlie.

But Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

Trying to hold off his disappointment, Mark figured he must be waiting at the luggage belt. He searched every face he passed, growing more and more nervous as he began to realize his uncle might have not come.

He found his duffle bag going around the belt, the only thing not claimed. Pulling it off, Mark paused to catch his breath and look at the crowd around him. His bones were aching—_just sore_, he told himself. But his vision was odd—light stung his eyes and blurred spots danced over the people.

A man bumped into him, muttering an apology. Mark glanced at the fellow's face—

He saw the same man as a child in a boarding school—the man getting married—the man with his two children—and somehow Mark knew the man was here to meet his German cousin, and the man had left his wife with the car, and he was dreading having the company—

Mark blinked hard, gasping. _What was all that?_

Everything seemed much louder all of a sudden—the voices of hundreds of people crushing his ears. But the wonder of it was—he could understand them all. They were all equally loud, equally prominent in his head.

But that wasn't it—because some of the things he heard weren't being spoken. He looked at a woman and the airport faded. She was a little girl with her grandfather—she was graduating—she—

Grabbing his duffle bag, Mark made a dash for the door. His head was roaring with sounds and pictures—other people's lives—other people's words—He had to get out.

He stopped to buy a day pass at the tube, since he didn't have the money to take a taxi. As he walked, he put the strap of his suitcase over his shoulders. He tried not to look at anyone he passed—but the roar was getting worse and worse.

There was no sitting room on the train, so he stood gripping one of the metal poles. His hands were slippery with sweat, and he stared at his feet as he swayed with the motion of the train. Whenever he glanced up, other people's memories would crowd into his head—flashes of events he had never seen, people he had never met. He pressed his forehead against the cold metal bar and squeezed his eyes shut. _Just get home. Get home and then you can worry. _

A man brushed by him, trying to find a seat. "Sorry," Mark muttered, moving a little. He could feel the fellow's gaze, but he kept his eyes down. He did not want to see anyone.

At last, he came to his stop. In a haze, he climbed into the lift that would take him to street level. _Almost home,_ he told himself, stepping off the lift and going into the street. He made his way down the sidewalk, avoiding eye-contact but unable to avoid the continual flood of noise.

There it was: The old townhouse, with shop windows on the first floor and living quarters above. Mark released a breath, glanced both ways and hurried across the street. He put his hand against the worn doorknob and started to turn it. But the door creaked open—it hadn't been closed.

The bell chirped as Mark stepped inside. "Uncle Charlie—" Mark called, but his voice faltered into silence.

Antiques were spilled across the floor, jewelry and old books tossed everywhere. Slowly Mark put his backpack and duffle bag against the wall. He made his way to the back, trying not to step on anything. "Uncle Charlie?"

There was no answer. Mark paused by the counter, but the cash register was untouched. There was a brown-red smear across the glass top of the counter.

Mark felt his insides twist as he touched it. Blood.

* * *

_Dun dun dun. While you're waiting to see what's going to happen, how about leaving a review, aye? _


	14. Chapter 13: Logical Thinking

_It seems that when Mark hung up on Uncle Charlie, he missed out on a very important message. _

**Chapter Thirteen – Logical Reasoning**

_Here I come  
And I'm somehow scared  
- Sheryl Crow, Real Gone_

Starbucks was playing jazzy Christmas music. As Kate waited for her drink, she mused over the coming holiday. She would probably drive down to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her parents. Cousins and siblings and grandparents would fill the house on Christmas afternoon for the ritual dinner and present exchange. Last year, Kate had attempted to get out of the quiet Christmas Eve with her folks. But that night when she sat down in front of her fake tree, alone in her house—well, she didn't want to live through that ever again. Her mother's hovering and her father's long speeches were tiring, but loneliness was another matter entirely.

"Tall chai tea latte!" said the barista, putting her drink down in front of her. Kate said a quiet thank you, taking the cup and going to sit. Dr. Cooper and Arthur were at a table, talking about their plans. Arthur had agreed to go to England with the professor right after Christmas. Really the decision was simple, since Arthur wanted to go back and Dr. Cooper had offered to pay for his expenses.

Kate sat in the empty chair, holding the cup to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the spiced aroma. Somehow her cares slipped away, and all that mattered was the warmth of the cup in her hand and the caressing scent of the tea. She took a little sip, not minding that it was scalding hot. "I love this tea," she said to Dr. Cooper and Arthur. "It's like drinking Christmas."

Dr. Cooper shook his head, reaching for his black coffee. "Tea isn't nearly strong enough. It's just water and herbs."

"I can't believe you bought _black coffee_ at Starbucks," Kate teased. "There are so many other choices!"

"Precisely," he said, tipping his cup towards her. "America offers the consumer far too many choices. I will take the simple route any day." He took a sip of his drink. "But if you're going to complain about someone's choice of drink, complain to Arthur. He is the one who ordered water."

Kate glanced at Arthur. "Are you sure that's all you want?"

"Positive," he answered, smiling a little. He looked very tired.

"Well, guess who stopped in my office this morning?" Dr. Cooper asked, taking a leather book out of his satchel.

Kate recognized it at once. "Mark?" she asked, astonished. "He gave you his mother's book?"

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Dr. Cooper opened the worn journal. "Yes, in fact. I was hardly less surprised. But he said that he wanted to know what was written in it, and he thought I'd be able to help. I promised to do my best, of course."

"Can you actually read that?" Kate asked.

"More or less," he said, his eyes scanning over the page. "I can catch a few words here and there, and then string it together." He fell silent, reading quietly to himself.

Kate turned to Arthur. "So, besides going to England, what are you going to do over the break?"

Shrugging, he sipped at his water. "Dr. Cooper mentioned that he would like to teach me to read. I've never been much for scholarly work, but I would like to give it a go."

"Do you think you'll like reading?" Kate asked.

"It will help me adjust faster, I think," Arthur said. "In time, I will probably learn to like it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both staring out the window while Dr. Cooper read the journal. Kate was just about to ask Arthur what he would find useful as a Christmas present, when Dr. Cooper choked on his coffee. Coughing, he grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his face.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, yes," Dr. Cooper answered, waving them aside. He was staring at the page. "I'm not sure I read this right. If I read it to you, can you translate, King Arthur?" Arthur agreed, and Dr. Cooper began reading aloud. His voice quivered with suppressed excitement. The vague interest in Arthur's eyes changed to surprise, and then to excitement. Kate felt very much like a third wheel, but she bided her time.

Dr. Cooper set down the book, pushing up his glasses and leaning forward. "Does it say what I think it does?"

Arthur was already standing. "We must find him!" He turned to Kate. "He is the reason I'm here—I know it. He will be able to help me get back."

"Would someone please explain what is going on?" Kate asked, staying seated.

Dr. Cooper began, "It says that Mark—"

"—Is descended from Merlin," Arthur finished.

Glancing from one to the other, Kate wondered if she was the only one at the table who still had common sense. "What does the journal say exactly, Dr. Cooper?"

"The beginning is a note from Mark's mother," Dr. Cooper said, retrieving the journal and scanning the pages again. "She says that after his father's death, they are no longer safe, and she is not assured that she will be able to tell him this when he is of age. So she has copied this journal from a family heirloom, and hopes that when the time is right he will be able to understand it. Then she says that a long time ago, there was a wizard named Merlin—that he lived and breathed, and had a son. Mark and his family are part of his lineage. She puts in a side note with something about Sir Isaac Newton—that he was one of them, and something went wrong with his magic, and so he went insane? It's not altogether clear to me…"

"Dr. Cooper," Arthur said impatiently. He looked toward the door.

"Right, right," Dr. Cooper said. "Anyway, the point is that some of these children of Merlin can use magic. Most of them can only do small things, and many choose not to utilize it at all. But there is a family legend that claims a descendant will be born who is every bit as powerful as Merlin. For this reason, a copy—or the original—of this book has been passed to the first child in every family. Mark and his mother and his uncle are apparently all that is left of the line, and the uncle has the original manuscript. She also mentions something about abstaining from any man-made medication or stimulants. Something about a—a '_scinnlác_.' Not sure what that is."

Arthur was barely keeping himself at the table. "'Scinnlác' means an act of magic, or frenzy. Please, may we go? I must speak with Mark."

"He's left for England already, I think," Kate said. The disappointment in Arthur's face made her blurt, "But perhaps he's still at the Waters' house saying goodbye. We could check there, I suppose."

She had not finished speaking before Arthur made for the door. Dr. Cooper was right behind him. Rolling her eyes a little, Kate followed them.

Once she was backing out of her parking place, she asked Dr. Cooper, "How come you didn't read that passage before, when Mark first met with you about the translation work?"

"Heh," Dr. Cooper grunted, looking embarrassed. "I may have gotten a little carried away in my enthusiasm. If I recall correctly, he didn't exactly give me the book when we met the first time. I might have taken awhile explaining the forms of Old English and the pronunciation and, uh, run out of time to look at the work itself."

"Ah," said Kate, amused. She paused, and then lowered her voice, "But, Dr. Cooper, there must be some mistake—or else it's just a family joke. This can't actually be real."

With a surprised look, Dr. Cooper asked, "Well, why not?"

"Because—because it's a myth," Kate sputtered, taken aback. "You know that."

"He's certainly not a myth," Dr. Cooper said, glancing in the back. Arthur was sitting in one of the side seats, staring out the window intently.

"No, but he isn't King Arthur either," Kate said under her breath.

"Then who is he?"

"I don't know!"

Dr. Cooper folded his hands over the book in his lap. "He is not insane. Ill, perhaps, but quite assured of himself, and quite reasonable. If he is not insane, we must believe him—and I think there are other reasons that make believing him not quite so outrageous as you seem to think. He knows Arthurian legend better than anyone I've met—yet he cannot read. He understands Old English perfectly, a language which you either teach yourself or learn in graduate school—and even then, only when you are training to be a medievalist. With a sword, he is a master. In hunting, he can manage with meager weapons. Our modern world is a wonder to him, but he fits in with a timeless grace."

"If he's King Arthur, why can he speak Modern English?" Kate whispered. "Why is he here at all? In America, of all places!"

"As to the latter, who knows? Perhaps he's right, and it's another game of Merlin's." Dr. Cooper shrugged. "But as to the first, that's quite easy. He's been around in some form or another for almost two thousand years. That's plenty of time to learn all sorts of languages."

Kate shook her head, but did not argue. It was pointless to debate with a professor when the man was sure he had it all figured out. She pulled into the Waters' driveway, and got out of the car. There was a hope deep in her heart that Mark had already left. If he was at the house, he would definitely be overwhelmed by Arthur's questions and Dr. Cooper's enthusiasm.

Mrs. Waters opened the door when Kate knocked. She was a middle aged woman, with bleached blond hair and a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, Kate!" she said. Her eyes fell on the other two, and she looked confused. "And… Dr. Cooper… if I'm correct?"

"Pleasure to meet you again, madam," he said. He nodded to his right. "This is our friend, King Arthur. We were wondering if Mark was here? I've found something quite surprising in the journal he left me." Dr. Cooper showed the journal to her.

With an uncertain glance at Arthur, Mrs. Waters answered, "No, I'm afraid Mark is already gone. He left about five hours ago for Atlanta. His flight should be taking off any moment."

Kate stole a glance at Arthur. His shoulders were slumped, the disappointment evident in his face. From inside the house, Kate heard Mrs. Waters' phone ringing. "I'm sorry we missed him," Kate said. In an attempt to show she didn't want to keep Mrs. Waters from answering the call, Kate took a little step backwards.

"He'll be gone to England soon, then?" Arthur asked.

The woman nodded. Her phone was still ringing, but she didn't seem to notice. "He lands in Heathrow—in London, that is—at about one-thirty local time, I think."

In the background, Kate heard the answering machine pick up. The recorded voices began, "Hello, this is the Waters' house." Mrs. Waters kept talking about how she was sorry they hadn't gotten to see Mark before he left. "Leave a message for Michael, Julie or Mark, and we'll call you back. Have a blessed day!"

There was a beep. Kate opened her mouth to say goodbye, but the tone of the message cut her off.

It was a man—his voice cracked, but it was urgent. "Do _not_ let Mark come home!" he yelled over the message machine. "Do not let him get on that plane! Keep him there for the holidays—just _don't let him come home! _They will kill—" There was a muffled sound.

Mrs. Waters sprang for the phone. A loud _pop_ rang through the house. Then the screech of a dead call. The message machine beeped off, and the recording ceased.

Air rushed back into Kate's lungs, and she realized that she was gripping something. She looked down, and found her hand clasped tightly in Arthur's. He was standing behind her, his other hand on her shoulder.

Frantically, Mrs. Waters grabbed the phone and dialed. "It's a dead number," she said, turning back to them and dialing again. "That was Mark's uncle—Charlie." She held the phone up to her ear, biting her lip as she waited. "Mark's cell went straight to voicemail. He must have turned it off already." She left a message, asking Mark to call her as soon as he could and not to go back to his house.

They stood silently for a moment after she hung up.

"You said that there was an original copy of the journal, owned by the uncle?" Arthur said slowly, looking at Dr. Cooper. The professor nodded, looking a bit sick. Arthur took a deep breath, and turned Kate to face him. "I must go after him."

"What? No, absolutely not." Kate shook her head, squeezing his hand. "We'll call the police in London, or get a message to Mark—but there's no way you can get to London yourself. And what would you do once you were there?"

"Kate, one of my visions—it was of a man in a shop, somewhere in London. There were other men there, and they found an old book. I'd swear it was the original copy of Mark's journal. It's _proof_," he said, trying to convince her. "I am supposed to help Mark. That's why I am here. I _have_ to go."

Dr. Cooper stepped beside Arthur. "I agree."

Kate gawked at him. "_What_?"

"It seems the king and the boy are connected somehow," Dr. Cooper said. "I can pay for his ticket. I had the money budgeted for both our flights, which should cover him." The professor turned to Arthur. "Unfortunately I can't join you right off—it's the middle of finals week, and the students will be very put out if I don't get their grades back to them."

"You're both—" _insane_ wobbled on the edge of her lip, but she stopped herself. She had promised. She'd sworn she would trust Arthur.

It was clear she could not stop their crazy scheme. Between one heartbeat and the next, Kate knew: She had to go with Arthur. Closing her eyes, she sighed between her teeth. _Here goes Christmas presents. Here's to overreacting. _

Arthur's hand pressed hers a little. "I have to do this," he said, gently. "Mark is in danger, and I cannot rest until I know I have done all I can for him."

"I understand," Kate said. She glanced up at him, and mustered a smile. "I am coming, too."


	15. Chapter 14: Smuggling the King

_I know that you were all lying awake at night ever since you read the last update, wondering to yourself, "How will Arthur get to England without a passport?" And then you cursed borders at length, changed your position on your Open-Borders/Closed-Borders essay and decided the only solution was to change the setting up the story to a time when the world was ruled by one country and people could flow freely. _

_Happily for you, my FBI friend came to Arthur's rescue. Apparently, if a person knows what he is doing, a passport can be constructed in 40 minutes using Pokémon cards. The day has been saved, and borders are restored._

_Except, perhaps, for the illegal immigration problem. Or the problem of people using forged passports._

**Chapter Fourteen – Smuggling the King into England**

_This remembered, of their [King Arthur and Queen Guinevere]'s kindness and mine unkindness, sank so to mine heart, that I might not sustain myself._

_-Lancelot, Morte Darthur, Thomas Malory_

When Kate was halfway to the car, she suddenly whirled around. "But you don't have a passport, Arthur!"

"Easily fixed," Dr. Cooper said, walking past her to climb into the passenger seat. Arthur shrugged and followed him.

Kate got into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut. "Easily fixed?" she asked incredulously, starting the car.

"You stop by your house and pack a bag. I'll give a friend of mine a call, and we'll be all set by the time we drive to Atlanta. I can accompany you down there, and I'll drive your car back to Rome—then you won't have to worry about getting bankrupted by the parking charges."

Kate agreed reluctantly. They pulled up in front of a small house, and she went inside to pack. Arthur and Dr. Cooper waited in the living room. Dr. Cooper had a man on the phone, and while he talked about arrangements he had Arthur weigh and measure himself. Throughout the process, Arthur felt curiously detached. Kate returned with her laptop, and Dr. Cooper helped her select the tickets and pay online—or that's what Arthur gathered from their conversation.

Within an hour, they were back in Kate's car and on the road. "I don't want to know what you're planning," Kate told Dr. Cooper. "I assume it's illegal and risky. Just don't tell me."

"Very well," Dr. Cooper said, smiling. "It's only that a friend of mine from the Smithsonian knows how to turn Pokémon cards into passports."

"Great. That's enough. My blood pressure is already pretty high." She glanced in the mirror at Arthur, and smiled a little. He returned the smile, though he had no idea what they were talking about.

They drove into the city, and Dr. Cooper directed Kate to a large set of structures. He took Arthur inside while Kate waited in the car. The building appeared to be a sort of inn, with many rooms inside. Dr. Cooper took him to the second floor, and knocked on the door. A blond haired man with a ready smile opened it.

"It's all ready, James," he said, walking them into his room. "Just need his picture." They directed Arthur to stand in front of a large white paper on the wall. He turned to face them, and the new man counted back from three. There was a flash—

_He shielded his eyes from the gleam of the armor under the summer sun. "How many does he have?" he asked Bedievere. The men were across the wide field, and he could not see them clearly._

"_Enough to fight strong, sire," Bedievere answered. "So many left with Sir Lancelot, or have died since, that our own numbers have been greatly reduced." _

"_I know." Arthur hooked his thumb around Excalibur's hilt. "Let no man brandish his sword. But if one of Mordred's men draw a weapon, attack immediately. My nephew talks of peace, yet I do not think we will leave this field without bloodshed." Gawain's ghost, the memory of the vision Arthur had the night before, hovered in his mind. Today, he would die._

"_Yes, sire," Bedievere said. Arthur took a deep breath, tapped his horse's sides and rode to the center of the field. Mordred did the same from the other side._

_Mordred was the last living of his nephews. Agravaine had died when Lancelot was discovered in the queen's room. The twins had been killed by Lancelot in his hurry to save the queen after their affair was discovered. Gawain had died of wounds he had received at Lancelot's hand. In truth, there was nothing Arthur could do but sue for peace. He had no heir, and his nephews had been sent to him to be brought up as his sons. Mordred was the only choice to name as an heir, at least as far as lineage went. _

_The young man—for he was barely five-and-twenty—stopped before Arthur. His eyes were suspicious, and Arthur knew that neither of them held any trust for the other. So the peace talks began. _

_It lasted several hours, but finally they had reached an agreement. Wine was brought, and they both drank. The sour taste was still in Arthur's mouth when he saw a movement in the corner of his eye—a sword drawn. _

_The trumpets were sounded. Mordred turned his horse, spurring back to his own lines. "Alas, this unhappy day!" Arthur said to himself, riding back to his knights. The battle had begun._

"Is he awake?"

"I think so—Arthur?" Someone shook him.

He blinked once, and saw a blur of tan, and the wavering form of someone leaning over him. It took another moment for his vision to clear. Somehow he had gotten back into Kate's car, and she was leaning over him. She smiled a little when his eyes focused on her, though there were lines of worry between her eyebrows. "Hey. We're at the airport."

Carefully, Arthur sat up. He followed Kate out, and she handed him a small book. "Your passport," she said. "Don't lose it, okay?"

He nodded. Dr. Cooper asked, "You've got everything, Kate? Even Mark's book?"

"Yes, it's all here." She patted a bag that was slung over her shoulder.

"Well, good luck then! Have a safe trip, and keep in touch!" He nodded to them both, and climbed back into the car.

Kate closed her eyes and exhaled. "Okay. Let's get this over with," she said.

The fog was getting worse for Arthur. It was all he could do to act as Kate directed him—showing ticket, passport, taking off shoes, putting them on. His head felt like led, and he struggled to keep up with her.

He remembered sitting down at last. Kate said something about their gate. Closing his eyes, Arthur tried to push aside the feeling that he was drowning.

"Arthur?" Kate asked, turning his head. Forcing his eyes open, he looked at her worried face. "Are you sure you can do this?" He nodded, and tried to smile.

The sun had long set by the time they boarded. Kate took the seat by the window, with Arthur beside her. She smiled at him nervously as she buckled in. "I've actually never flown this far before," she said. "I got my passport but never had the chance to use it till now."

Arthur glanced around the plane. "It looks solid enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

They sat still for some time before the plane began to glide softly backwards and then forwards. Arthur leaned forward to look past Kate out the window. They rocked to a stop again. Kate gulped, gripping her armrests. "I have a confession to make, Arthur," she said quickly.

Half laughing at the way she'd scrunched up her face, he asked, "What's that?"

"I've actually only flown once before—and that was an hour and a half flight, back before 9/11."

Before Arthur could ask what that meant, the plane started forward. It accelerated, until Arthur had to brace himself with his hand over Kate's in order to keep leaning forward. He watched through the window as they lifted up. The thrust, the pull, the sudden weightlessness—it felt wonderful. It felt like he was alive. The fog cleared from his head, and he grinned.

They hit something, and the plane jerked violently. Kate grabbed his arm, gasping. "It's alright," he said, still smiling. "Just a bad bit of air."

It was some time before he could coax her to look out the window. The country stretched out below them, lights twinkling from the ground like thousands of stars. Then they lifted, and it was all moonlight and mountainous clouds. "It's beautiful," Kate said breathlessly. She laughed a little. "It's like a whole new world, but without Aladdin."

Arthur leaned back into his seat. "Wait until dawn," he said, smiling. "It's even better then."

He wasn't sure how he knew what the sunrise looked like from the sky. But the image was clear in his head. Kate didn't ask, still staring out the window.

Several hours later, Arthur was nodding off to sleep. His head jerked up, and he rubbed his eyes. Beside him, Kate was nodding off as well, her earphones still in place. (She had tried to get him to wear them, but the screen playing pictures discomforted him and he did not much favor the music they played.) She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position to rest her head. Arthur tugged at the armrest between them, and found that it could be moved. Carefully, he slid it up. He waited, and within a few minutes her head came to rest on his shoulder. She seemed more comfortable then, and fell into a deeper sleep. Arthur closed his eyes, and followed suit.

The sunlight woke him. He opened his eyes, and could see through the window into the hazy distance. The sky was golden and pink with early morning. Kate slept on, tucked neatly against him.

_You're married,_ he thought, closing his eyes again.

_She's dead._

There was a rush of wind in his ears. _Then he was sitting on a branch, staring through the nunnery window. Guinevere was old—her hair white and her face covered with wrinkles. Her once clear eyes were foggy now, but they were content. The nuns soothed her, and a priest entered to hear her final confession. _

_When he had finished, she prayed with him. She then fell silent and still. The sun drooped lower and lower, and finally one nun whispered to another that she was dead._

_They were still preparing the body when a new nun entered, Sir Lancelot following in a monk's attire. He, too, was old, his shoulders stooped with years of penance and his brow heavy with hard memories. At the sight of Guinevere, he trembled. "She is dead, then?" he whispered to an attending nun. "We are too late?" The nun nodded, and Lancelot covered his face for a moment. "We will take her back to Glastonbury, and bury her there," he said, his voice nearly cracking. _

_They prepared the caravan and left. Arthur followed—he knew not how, but it seemed that he flew. He then found himself in another tree, watching as the monks dug a deep grave. They brought out a hollowed-out oak-bole as her coffin, and set her in it carefully. Lancelot helped with the digging for a few hours, and then sat to rest beside his queen. "Make sure it is deep," he said to the others. "Many would abuse her body if it was found, though we have both atoned for our sins these past twenty years." He took her hand and kissed it softly, then rested his head against the oaken side._

_The men finished at last. One went to rouse Lancelot, who appeared to have fallen asleep. But he would not wake. _

"_He is dead," said the man, turning to the others. "He has died beside his lady."_

_Arthur watched as they spoke together, about the doomed affair and the great nobleness of both people. One monk suggested that they be buried together, as they had lived. Though a few seemed uncertain as to whether that would be an honorable Christian's burial, in the end they decided on it. While Arthur looked on, they prepared Lancelot and placed him next to Guinevere. The two were lowered down, and the hole was covered in dirt. _

"_We will speak of this to no one," said one monk. "Our good friend spoke the truth—many would __disgrace their bodies, if they were found. Better to let the secret die."_

_The branch shook beneath Arthur—_no, that was Kate, shifting as she woke. Arthur blinked the mist from his eyes, glancing at her as she leaned away from him.

Her hair was sticking up on one side, and she peered at him through squinted eyes. "Did I… sleep on your shoulder?" she asked, rubbing her neck.

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Oh." Kate paused, then turned abruptly to the window. But not before Arthur could see that she was blushing.

They landed about noon, London-time. Kate was very nervous before they reached customs, but Arthur was able to make it through without arousing suspicion. They found a taxi, and Kate took out Mark's uncle's address to give to the driver.

Arthur looked out the window as the city began to pass by. There were huge posters of immodest women everywhere, which he found shocking. He was about to duck his head when there was a rush of wings—

_Fire. Fire was everywhere. He swerved and dove—but the smoke was blinding him, choking him. People were screaming. His arm—no, his wing—it was burning. He opened his mouth to cry out, but it was a harsh _caw _sound that came. He was falling. Throwing his weight to one side, he tried to steady his landing. But he hit a thatched roof with a crushing snap in his chest. The fire was everywhere. He was going to burn._

"Oh! No, no, we're just friends," Kate was saying. She was beat-red when Arthur turned to her. The heat was still around him, and he felt dizzy from the smoke. When she noticed his expression, her face changed from chagrin to concern. "Arthur—"

_The woman balanced her thick manuscript against her chest. "Henry, don't walk so fast!" she said, hurrying after a man about four years older than herself. "I am going to drop my papers."_

"_Keep up!" he said, laughing. "We haven't got a moment to waste! My little sister come to London at last!" _

_Arthur jump from his perch, and dove down just over the young woman's hair. "Oh!" she cried, her papers falling in a heap at her feet. "Oh, that crow!" she snapped, her alarm turning to anger. "Henry! My manuscript!"_

_They both got on their knees as they gathered it up. "Now, Jane, it will be fine, they're just a little muddy…"_

"_Muddy!" she gasped. "I will have to rewrite the pages! Oh, the ink is running!"_

"Arthur!" Kate snapped. He rubbed his eyes, and found that they were driving past some sort of woodland. A park, perhaps.

_The man wore pants that looked like gigantic balls. His hands were blotched with ink, and he walked with a certain theatrical tread as he strutted across the stage. "You cannot stand like that!" he snapped one other man nearby. The first fellow struck a pose. "Here, like this." He sang horribly off-key, "A thousand, thousand sighs to save—Lay me, O, where sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!"_

Something covered Arthur's head. He struggled for a moment, but he heard Kate say, "Stop! I'm just trying to see if this will work!" He realized the thing over his head was a jacket, and the jacket smelled strongly of Kate.

He stopped struggling, and hesitated. "What are you doing, Kate?"

"Trying to keep you from looking out the window. Just stay under there until we can get out. You're fading in and out faster than I can say a sentence."

Though he felt a little ridiculous, he was so relieved that the visions had stopped that he did not argue.

* * *

_Kudos to those who can name the two famous people and one famous event Arthur flashes to. Even more kudos to those who can name where the song at the end came from!_

_Also, now you know the solved mystery of King Arthur's grave at Glastonbury. Everyone knows Arthur never died, so who's the guy buried with Guinevere? That's right—Lancelot! _

_Next chapter we'll see if Mark's still at the shop, or if something Very Bad has happened before Kate and Arthur can lend a hand. Comments are a great motivation for writing the next chapter quickly!_


	16. Chapter 15: Truths Revealed

Things seem to be going from bad to worse. But at least everyone's back together, right?

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen – Truths Revealed**

_Open your eyes and see  
You'll see  
-Jonsi, Sticks and Stones_

Dust and wood. His joints ached. Slowly he rolled onto his back, touching his head. The ceiling. A table to his left. No—it was a counter.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers cracked as he worked them through his hair, trying to ease the pain in his head. _What in the world…?_

The dust settled on him, and he pushed himself up, coughing. There was a burst of fire in his side as his shirt dragged over his ribs. Gasping, he touched the spot. Something had burned him through his shirt, leaving a tender wound. The floor all around him was burned in spots.

Carefully, Mark pushed himself to his feet. The shop tilted, and he caught himself on the counter. The clock on the wall began to chime the hour. Each gong was a hammer behind Mark's eyes. Three o'clock—he squinted one eye open—three o'clock in the afternoon, by the light. He must have been out solid for two hours.

His luggage was still by the door. Rubbing his eyes, Mark took a deep breath. Blood on the counter. Uncle Charlie missing. Hallucinations—thinking he could read other people's minds. Then sudden nausea—and nothing.

"Alright," he said, exhaling through his teeth. "Change of clothes first. Then call the police. One thing at a time. Stay calm and carry on, as they say."

He pushed himself off the counter, and walked unsteadily to the stairs on one side of the room. Each of the steep steps felt like he was climbing a mountain, and he was winded by the time he reached the top. Keeping a hand on the wall to balance himself, he walked down the familiar hallway to his room.

The door was opened a crack. He pushed it, and found himself staring into the image of his messiness as a child. Everything was tossed across the room, pushed back against walls, and there were even a few CD cases on the floor that someone had broken. There had been a person had been searching through his stuff. Mark clenched the door knob in his hand, struggling to keep control of his fear and his anger. Abruptly he grabbed a shirt and pants from the floor. He changed in the loo.

He dumped his dirty clothes on the floor in his room, then went to the family landline. When he picked up the phone, it buzzed with a dead tone. Putting it down again, Mark two the stairs two at a time. He emptied the cash register, and put half the money in their safe and the other bit in his wallet.

Someone knocked at the shop door. From where he stood, the people were just shadows on the other side of the window shades. Swallowing, Mark picked one of the antique swords off the floor. It wasn't much, but at least it was sharp. He carefully stepped to the door, and listened for a moment.

"This should be the right one," said a woman with an American accent. She knocked again.

Mark frowned, almost sure he recognized that voice. Carefully he opened the door. Kate and Arthur were outside.

Before he could even open his mouth, he was overwhelmed by a flood of images. Arthur—king, enthroned at the Round Table, with knights at his left and right—Arthur lying wounded, older, dying—a man leaned over him, and then Arthur was a raven. There was an ancient woman, with the raven in a cage as she boarded a tall ship. Then the raven was at Berry College—Mark heard himself, reading a passage in Old English, and the raven toppled off its perch and landed as a man.

Mark shut his eyes, but he could still feel it—a tangible sting over his skin, like spiders crawling up his arms. A spell, shrouded around Arthur like a tattered cloak. It was incomplete. It was broken the wrong way. It was driving Arthur insane.

A hand touched his arm. Mark opened his eyes, and gasped as he found himself again at the door to his old shop. A sweat had broken out all over him.

"Mark, are you okay?" Kate was saying. "We heard from your uncle—no one could get a hold of you."

Mark glanced at Arthur. The king was lost in another dream, and Mark somehow knew that if he just concentrated harder he could watch the vision as well. There was something—something important that Mark could barely feel.

Arthur staggered a little as he came out of it, and the truth burst into Mark without bidding. Grabbing Arthur by the sleeve, Mark took him inside. He pushed a chair upright, and pointed to it. "Sit, Arthur. Now."

Kate followed, glancing around. "Have you called the police?" she asked Mark.

Mark ignored her question. His every nerve was buzzing—he didn't know how or why. He took her by the elbow. "Kate—Arthur's right."

"Um…" Kate began, looking at Mark as if he had lost it.

"I—I don't know how," Mark stuttered, motioning from himself to Arthur. "But I—well, he _is_ King Arthur. Merlin turned him into a raven and I turned him back—by accident. I don't know how. I just—I did it wrong, I think—I don't know." He shut his eyes, rubbing his head. "The visions. Those are the side effects. He isn't fully here—he isn't fully healed. If he has many more—he's unstable as it is—and—I think he might go mad. We need to be careful."

Kate was staring at him. "I… understood about a quarter of that."

"I'm messing this all up. I don't know what I'm saying." Mark cast the sword aside and raked a hand through his hair, pacing.

Kate dug in her purse and took out a leather journal. "Mark," she said, holding it out to him. "Dr. Cooper translated some of this."

As he paced back past her, Mark took the book. He ran his fingers over the worn spine, drawing comfort from its familiarity.

"Dr. Cooper—well—here, tucked in the first few pages," she stopped Mark, and took out a few pages of loose paper. "He wrote this in the car on the way to Atlanta. It's a near exact translation of the beginning, he said."

"My uncle is missing," Mark said, even as he unfolded the paper.

"I know. He called us—told us not to let you come home. We need to go," Kate said, glancing around nervously. "The taxi is still outside. Let's find a hotel and figure out what to do."

Mark tucked the letter into his pocket. "Alright, let's go. Be careful with Arthur." He grabbed his duffle bag, and followed Kate outside.

She paused, glancing up and down the street. There was a cab right in front of the shop, so Mark carried his bag to it. "That isn't the cab I had before," Kate said. "I guess he left."

The driver got out of his seat and came around to open the trunk. "Tim had another place to get on to. I'm filling in for him," he said, putting their luggage in the back.

Kate held onto her bag. "I don't… I think we can just walk. Thanks though."

The man glanced from her to Mark. Suddenly, Mark found himself plunging through memories again—his uncle, gagged and bound in a dark room, people talking, the same man bumping into Mark on the tube, the man realizing that Mark was the one they had been searching for—

Mark backed away. "Arthur—!" he started to shout, but the man's hand came around his wrist and he felt the prick of something burying under his skin.

The world went mute and dull. Mark closed and opened his eyes. He saw Arthur jump towards the man. The stranger dropped a small vial as he blocked Arthur's punch. Mark looked at it as it rolled down the sidewalk. It was some sort of shot.

There was a burning in Mark's gut—a jittery, unstable power building in him. He stumbled forward, leaning against the taxi. People were shouting behind him, but he couldn't hear. He saw a blur of blue, white—then there was a fire in him.

Something hit his head. A burst of light—followed by darkness.

* * *

"Mark." Large hands shook his shoulders. "Mark, wake up. They're coming."

Wincing, Mark squinted at the voice. He was in some sort of darkish room. The face over him was in shadow.

Suddenly he was hauled to his feet and pushed against the wall. "Wake up!" his uncle shouted.

Mark caught himself on the wooden wall. "I'm awake!" he said, pushing Charlie off. But then a trembling weakness went through him, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting. Even breathing felt hard, he was so tired.

His uncle knelt, too, all the harshness gone and only concern in his face. "It's happened," he said, looking at Mark closely. "Just like your mum. Should have guessed earlier, but I hoped…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark said. "Why weren't you there to pick me up? Where are we? What happened?" He felt more panicked with each question, and clamped his mouth shut to keep from saying more.

"There isn't much time. I'm sorry, Mark," his uncle said. Mark met his eyes, and the memories came.

The Merlin in the King Arthur legends was real. He fell in love with a woman in court who later led him to his grave. But she bore him a child, and the child had a child. With each kid the magic grew less, but there was always some magic. Most of them didn't use it—it attracted unwanted attention. Those that did use it tended to go a little crazy—Sir Isaac Newton being the primary example.

Around the time Mark's mum got married some people got interested in us again. She never used her magic, but she learned Old English so that she could copy down that book. Charlie didn't know much about what led to her death—they distanced ourselves so much after Mark's da died defending her. But even though she never used her magic, she was hunted relentlessly.

Charlie's face came into focus again. "You see it?" he asked quietly. Mark couldn't think of a response—he felt like he'd been tipped on his head. "You're strong—stronger than your mum," Charlie said, almost to himself. "I never really developed my magic, but even I can feel yours." Wincing, he added, "I've done a lousy job of raising you."

Numbly Mark mumbled, "You've done fine."

Shaking his head, Charlie cleared his throat. "Look, whatever they ask you, don't do it. They want something, and we can't give it to them." Almost to himself, he muttered, "King Arthur would have to be dead for it to work."

Mark pushed the palm of his hand against his forehead. "But Arthur—he was with me when the man knocked me out."

"What?"

He opened his mouth to say more, but a door opened and Charlie stood abruptly.

"Time's up," a shadow in the doorway said. He had a gun in hand, and motioned Mark and his uncle out of the room. They were taken down a hall, and into a large room with a pleasant view of the London skyline. Arthur and Kate were already there. Kate looked up as they entered, pale and worried. But Arthur was staring at a business man standing in front of him.

The man glanced at the new comers, and made a little gesture of greeting to them. Light from the windows caught on a silver ring on his finger, and caused the opal stone on the ring to glitter with deep blues. He smiled faintly as he said, "Ah, and here are the wizards."

* * *

_As always, reviews make next chapters come faster. Poor Mark and the others could use some notes of encouragement before they trust me to write them out of this. _


	17. Chapter 16: Dreams and Nightmares

_Mark apparently had nightmares as a kid, and since medication was not an option Charlie learned the only spell he ever has used. _

_I dare you to read "Dream of Rhonabwy" and leave with a sane thought in your head. Though it is notably less insane than "Culhwch and Olwen," the other Welsh Arthurian short story we had to read for class. _

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen – Dreams and Nightmares**

"_Dost thou see the ring with a stone set in it, that is upon the Emperor's hand?"_

_- Dream of Rhonabwy, translated by Lady Charlotte Guest_

The man in the suit had been questioning Kate and Arthur about basic information—who they were, why there had followed Mark, their relationship with him. Arthur had suddenly gone silent when the man entered, leaving it up to Kate to reply. She figured it worked better for her to be the one answering—it meant that Arthur would keep his identity a secret. Not that she was sure that he really was King Arthur, but she didn't have time to mull through that right now.

There was very little she could do but answer honestly. Both Arthur and she had been handcuffed to their chairs, sitting next to each other at a little distance from a desk in the middle of the room. The man leaned back against the massive desk, his arms crossed casually.

"Ah, and here are the wizards." Mark and another man—_that must be his uncle_—were pushed into the room. Leaning forward, Kate tried to catch Mark's eye, but he was staring in surprise at their kidnapper. Four men followed them into the room, and stood by the door.

The man twisted his silver ring around his finger. "Have you reconsidered your position?" he asked Mark's uncle. In reply, Charlie spit at the man's polished shoes. Shrugging, the man turned to Mark. "Hello, Mark Wright. I'm Jack. I'm terribly sorry about the treatment you've received. But I need a favor from you, and I think you'll find it in your best interest to help me out."

Charlie shook his head. Mark glanced at him, and then Kate and Arthur. Casting a look at Arthur's face, Kate saw that he was still as inexpressive as he had been since they first saw Jack. His eyes were fixed on the man's strange ring.

"What do you want?" Mark asked, turning back to Jack.

"See this ring?" Jack spread his fingers, holding his hand up so that the window light caught on the expensive opal. "Bought it at your uncle's shop a few weeks ago. Neither of you seemed to realize what a valuable bit of history you had for sale—I did not realize it myself for almost two weeks.

"Do you know much about King Arthur?" Jack asked. Beside Kate, Arthur made no response to his name. Mark kept his eyes on Jack, and shrugged a little. "Legend has it that the king possessed a ring which could be used to see history—and, when wielded in his own hand, it could change history. The ring was mentioned in passing during Lady Charlotte Guest's 'Dream of Rhonabwy,' a short Welsh story about a soldier's journey to see King Arthur. Scholars all over the world have studied the ring in the tale, theorizing that it represented the government's control over knowledge of the past. But it was all just a legend, until I found it in your shop.

"As I'm sure you know by now, those legends did have truth in them. Every night I wear this ring, I have vivid dreams of historical occurrences that I can remember when I wake up. I think that with your help, Mark, I might be able to curb the ring's power—tame it, so that I would be able to see the events that I wished to see. I am a history professor in Oxford, so you can understand why this would be in my interests."

Mark shifted his weight. "You don't look like a professor." Silently, Kate agreed. Professors had a certain air about them that was hard to miss, even in the ones that acted the most normal. This man felt much more like a CEO or lawyer.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Jack said with a wave of his hand. "Will you help me, Mark? If you do, I will let you and your friends go."

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Mark said slowly, "I don't think so, Mr. Forester." Surprise and annoyance flicked across Jack's face. "You do not want to look at history—you want the ring to be under your control. You want to change the past."

"I see you've already developed your skills quite a bit," Jack said. He pointed to two of the guards who had been standing in the background. One took Mark's shoulders and held him, the other pulled Charlie a few feet away and drew a gun. When the barrel was against Charlie's back, Jack continued, "You have a choice, Mark."

Mark looked from one man to the other desperately. "What? No!"

"Stop!" Kate shouted. She jerked her hands, feeling the bite of the metal handcuffs on her wrists.

Without so much as glancing at her, Jack motioned towards another guard. He came from the wall, holding a cloth in his hand. Kate pressed her back against the chair, clamping her mouth shut as he approached.

Just as he reached out to gag her, a voice she barely recognized growled, "Don't touch her."

Arthur was staring at the guard, his blue eyes sparking with challenge. Those were the first words he'd uttered since he was brought into the room, and for a moment everyone stopped to glance at him.

"Merlin's folk won't be able to give you what you want," Arthur said to Jack, still with his eyes on the man in front of Kate. "The ring can only be mastered by the king."

"King Arthur is dead, and has been for a long time," Jack said dismissively. "It is free for the wielding." He turned back to Mark, saying over his shoulder, "Gag both the man and woman."

"He is not dead!" Arthur shouted. "I—"

"—am hungry, right?" cut in Charlie. Something in his eyes begged Arthur to shut up. "You're hungry? Me too!"

The man with the gun knocked Charlie on the head with it, and he flinched. "Be quiet!" snapped Jack. "Make your choice, Mark."

From this angle, Kate could not see Mark's face. But his voice was desperate as he protested. "I can't! I don't even know how I would do it!"

"Then perhaps his death will at least weaken the magic around it," Jack said. "The less magic in the world, the more we will be able to shape it."

Almost before he had finished speaking, there was a dull snap. Kate didn't immediately realize that Charlie had been shot, but then his eyes glazed over and he slumped against the man's arm. The guard let him go, and he collapsed onto the ground at Mark's feet. Kate shuddered as she saw the blood was flowing from a wound in his back. "No," Mark gulped. He fought against the man who was holding him back. "No!"

"You feel that?" asked Jack, almost to himself. "The magic's being snuffed out."

"Mark!" Arthur snapped. His tone of voice brought Mark's head around. "Let me out!"

Mark licked his lips, his eyes still panicked. He turned his hand so that his palm was facing Arthur, and said, "Openian."

There was a small click. Kate pulled at her hands, and found that the handcuffs had come undone. "How—" she began, half to herself. But then Arthur was on his feet, diving towards Jack. The man who had been standing in front of Kate jumped forward to stop him.

"… Geswefian," said someone. Kate turned, and found that Charlie had pushed himself up enough that he could see them. Abruptly all of their kidnappers collapsed. Closing his eyes, Charlie dropped his head to the floor again. Mark rushed forward, his shoulders shaking.

Kate stepped behind Mark, putting a hand on his shoulder. His voice choking, Mark said, "He p-put them to sleep."

Charlie opened one eye, and half smiled. "Used that spell all the time when you had nightmares as a lad," he murmured.

A stillness spread over Charlie—first in his eyes, and then over his chest as he ceased to breathe. Mark shook his head, stuttering something and gripping his uncle's hand. Squeezing her eyes shut, Kate tried to hold back her own tears. Now was not the time to give into the trauma. They weren't safe yet.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she looked up to find Arthur kneeling beside her. His eyes were clear, though they were grieved. He reached out and covered Charlie's frozen eyes, and when he removed his hand he had closed them. "Rest in peace, my friend," he said softly.

* * *

_Looks like we're almost to the end. Leave a comment with your sympathies for Mark! He could really use them. *passes Mark a tissue*_

_(Also, be on the look out for a new adventure involving Mark and time travel - coming soon!)_


	18. Chapter 17: Between Berry and London

_To read a fun time-traveling story involving Mark and a few Harry Potter characters, go read "A Routine Disturbance" - a story coauthored by my friend, Fox_Murphy. You can find the direct link to the first two chapters on my profile. There's a pretty important twist involving Mark's past, and if you're curious about his story you won't want to miss it!_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Seventeen – Between Berry and London**

_Nor shall I ever see them [the knights] reunited around my table as before; it is this that hurts me most._

– _Holy Grail,_ _Chrétien de Troyes_

The door shut quietly behind Arthur. Cars were flying by, but he could see where Mark had gone. Taking a deep breath, he carefully waited until it was clear, and then crossed the street.

The last few hours had been painstakingly slow. Arthur had bound their kidnappers, but none of them had woken before the policemen arrived. It was a matter of documentation then—questions and answers, exacting details. They had followed the police to the morgue, where Charlie's body was being kept. Kate was still inside, trying to find out when they would be allowed to arrange a funeral. Mark had muttered something about getting fresh air, and left.

There was an enclosed park bus stop across the street, and Mark was sitting on the bench. Other than an impatient businessman standing nearby, there was no one around. Arthur moved a pile of trash out of the way, and sat beside Mark.

Mark was staring at the traffic, his face blank. "I could have stopped it," he said, his voice flat and quiet. "If I had thought faster, known more—I could have stopped it."

"Maybe," Arthur admitted. "But we all played a part in what happened. There were a thousand different choices that lead to his death, and most of those choices weren't yours, Mark." Arthur glanced down, and nudged a balled up McDonald's bag with his foot. "We aren't in control of what happens. Sometimes we _can't_ stop something from happening, even if we could."

Shutting his eyes tightly, Mark said, "It happened so fast. I don't even feel anything right now. It's like my brain is on mute and I just hear echoes."

"It will get worse before it gets better," Arthur said quietly.

Mark shuddered, opening his eyes and staring ahead at the road. "It's the worse that I am afraid of."

Cars roared by, and the drone of the street made Arthur feel uneasy. He sensed that he was about to shift again—into another vision, another memory. Trying to ignore it, he told Mark, "It's going to be hard. I won't shame your grief or the severity of this blow by saying it will get easier, or by patronizing you with my pity. Kate and I—we have no idea what you feel, what you will feel. But know something, Mark." He waited until Mark was looking at him before he continued. "You will suffer, and you will go through long and hard days. But you will survive. Someday, you are going to be okay again. Not because this isn't hard, but because you have to do it. You have to live with this, and—as impossible as it feels right now—you will live with it. You are strong, Mark, and you have friends. You are going to be alright."

Mark clenched his jaw, nodding and dropping his eyes. They sat silently for a moment, the rushing in Arthur's ears growing ever louder. Just as he felt himself slipping, someone grabbed his hand. Arthur opened his eyes, and saw Mark pushing a ring onto Arthur's left pinky. "This will help," he said.

A chill and then a fire raced over Arthur, and he remembered. He remembered everything: Guinevere and Lancelot. Gawain's death. Bedievere casting Excalibur into Avalon—Merlin and Morgan. He remembered being turned into a raven.

There were centuries—centuries of history passed while he was a raven, and he remembered it all. An old woman had caught him sometime in 1817, and had taken him on a ship to America. He remembered the years of watching the country change from wilderness to industrial cities. Berry College's campus had felt like one of the few refuges left.

He remembered the Jewel Box, with its cruel reflective glass, and Kate stooping over him. He remembered hearing a voice—Mark—reading something—and then he was toppling out of a tree, and Kate was there.

Blinking, Arthur found himself staring down at the silver ring with an opal stone. "I took it from the man, before the police arrived," Mark said. "I only thought of it at the last moment. But it's yours, and I think—it should heal you."

"There was no ring of history," Arthur said, looking at Mark. "Not in my time. I was bluffing in the room to stall him. The man was wrong—it was all a legend."

"The man was right, actually. Except that it's not a ring," Mark said. He smiled a little.

* * *

Kate pulled on her jacket, glancing in the mirror. Two weeks had passed since Charlie's death, and one week had gone by since his funeral. It was Christmas Eve.

She had taken her Christmas budget and used it to buy two cheap hotel rooms for the past couple of weeks. It was cheaper to pay for the rooms than to pay the outrageous Christmas season airfare, and Mark did not seem in the state to travel or to be alone right now. It had not been a very hard decision to make. Traveling to England had always been a dream of hers, and she intended to visit at least one of Jane Austen's houses while she was here. They should be getting back to Georgia after the New Year.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Kate turned from the mirror and edged her way between the end of the bed and the dresser. Once she was safely through, she went down the hall and knocked softly at Arthur's door. He opened it after a moment, and smiled.

"You guys want to go on a walk?" Kate asked. "I think I can hear carolers outside."

Already reaching for his jacket, Arthur glanced back into the room. Mark was lying on one of the beds, staring up at the TV in the corner. "I'm fine here," he said, without moving. "I think I'll just catch the Doctor Who reruns."

"Alright. We shouldn't be long," Arthur said, stepping out and closing the door behind him. He shrugged in answer to Kate's questioning look, and walked past her into the lobby.

As Kate stepped outside, she paused to take a deep breath of the cold air. "This is so refreshing after the stifling heat in my room," she said, beginning to walk toward a nearby park. Arthur stuck his hands in his pockets, nodding. They walked for some time in silence, listening to distant carolers and the sound of their steps. There was a couple speaking French to each other, and Kate tried to listen in. "I wish I knew what they were saying," she said to Arthur, under her breath. "I took French in college but I don't remember more than a few words."

He shrugged. "It's not a very interesting conversation. The man says, 'Do we have to meet your parents on New Years Eve? Your mother always gives me peaches, and I hate peaches.' The woman says, 'Well, at least my mother doesn't make me go look at cars the way your father does!' And now they're arguing about who has the better parents."

Puzzled, Kate asked, "You speak French?"

He glanced at her and grinned. "Sure. England was invaded by France several times. The language is still quite similar."

"Ah... So…" Kate kicked a pine cone. "You seem to be doing a lot better. I haven't seen you fall into a vision for a while, now that I think about it."

Arthur took his left hand out of his pocket, showing her the signet ring on his pinky. She had noticed that somehow he'd taken it from Jack, but she had not gotten the full story yet. "Mark got this for me, and it's healed my memories. No more visions."

"Is it really history-controlling?" she asked, interested.

Shaking his head, Arthur answered, "No. It's actually not a ring—it's Excalibur." He smiled at her skeptical look. "Mark and I have been brainstorming it. Apparently he can read people, but he can't read objects as easily. Before I was taken to Avalon, Sir Bedievere threw Excalibur into a lake to summon help. Mark thinks that after Merlin helped me, he found Excalibur at the bottom of the lake. He transformed it so that it would not be taken up by an enemy. So in some ways it is history—it's my history. And in some ways, the stories about it being able to change the past are true. I mean, think of all the legends that have risen around my kingdom." He spread his hands toward the tree tops. "I've created my own history in those legends."

Kate laughed a little. "You sound like Dr. Cooper."

Smiling, Arthur scratched the back of his head. "I suppose I do," he said sheepishly. "But it's a safe topic, so Mark and I have been over it several times."

There was a small group of carolers standing at a distance, and Kate paused to watch them. "How do you think Mark is doing?" she asked, glancing out the corner of her eye at Arthur. "He's gotten so hard to read in the last week or so."

"He's as well as he can be, given the circumstances," Arthur answered. "He does not talk much about what happened, but he is making plans for the future. He wants to go back and finish up his degree at Berry. Right now, he's thinking about going to med school after he graduates."

Kate nodded. "He mentioned that the other day. I think it's helping him feel more stable, to have these goals in place." She listened to the singing, her insides twisting at the thought of the next question she wanted to ask. Trying to ignore the nervous knot in her stomach, she turned to Arthur. "What are you going to do next?"

"I'm not sure," he said, his eyes still on the carolers. "Part of me still wishes that I could go back. I will never see my friends again—my knights, and that still is hard to believe." He glanced at her, and shrugged off his homesickness. "I need to get a job, and a house, and settle down somewhere. But I don't have a real education—I can't even read."

"That can be fixed," Kate said. "Besides, I bet Dr. Cooper could find a place for a man with your… interesting credentials."

Arthur laughed. "Knowing him, you're probably right." He paused, twisting the ring on his finger and looking down at her. His blue eyes became serious again, and Kate felt her cheeks grow hot. "Thank you, Kate."

"For what?" she asked, bewildered.

"Helping me so much. You didn't have to. A lot of people would have discarded me as mad, and they probably would have been right." A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth as he touched her hand. "But you did not give up on me."

"I did," Kate admitted. "At first—and for a long time—I thought you were insane." She laced her fingers through his. "Somewhere between Berry and London I realized that as impossible as it was, I had started to believe in you." She shrugged. "It's still a little difficult, when I start thinking about it, but I guess I don't mind anymore. You are Arthur to me, and king or not... you're the same person."

He kissed her forehead. "I am so glad I was given this second chance with you."

Lopping her arms carefully behind his neck, Kate smiled. "I'm glad, too."

He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Whatever the legends said, Kate was positive that even Lancelot couldn't have beaten that kiss.

* * *

_The end! D'awwwww._

_Remember that you can check out some more Mark action over at "A Routine Disturbance" (see link in my profile). Over the summer, a new story starring Mark will be coming up as well, and it may or may not involve a certain Type 1 Diabetic Irish girl. _

_Thanks for joining me on this journey! And be kind to all ravens you see. You never know..._


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